Gone
by exb756
Summary: Civilization has fallen. In the wake of a string of natural and manmade disasters, various factions strive for the most basic of resources and the great cities of the world are left to ruin. One man tries to survive with a group of fractured refugees, as a war begins that will threaten everything still standing. Rated T for intense violence, blood, light sexual themes and language.
1. The Road to Nowhere

**Hi all! It's been a hiatus of about three months since I've written a Minecraft fanfiction, the last one having been cancelled due to my general disinterest in the storyline, but I've returned here with a new fan fiction that I hope you'll enjoy. It's a post-apocalyptic story, but different from the usual apocalypse tales (no zombies, no nuclear war). So, here's Chapter 1…and I really hope to be updating on a regular basis! Enjoy, and of course comment and subscribe!**

I'm not sure what it was about Langsford Peak that struck me. The sprawling, ruined metropolis before me seemed to beckon with some strange, unusual power. I wasn't sure what it was that made this city seem…_different_. I had been through several cities, all of them ruined and deserted, but this one seemed quite different, unique in its own way. Maybe it was the giant mountain, alone on the broad, ash-covered plains that surrounded the urban sprawl. Maybe it was the lazy river, stained brown from the polluted filth that had since run into it. Or perhaps it was just one of those feelings, ones that you simply cannot ignore, no matter how hard you tried.

Nobody knew what happened, really; some might attribute it to the wrath of Notch, bringing his fist down upon us. Others might attribute it to a breakdown of law and order and a total combustion of civilization. Some might say it was that and a contribution of several terrible natural disasters at once, including the enormous earthquake and the wildfires that still burned in the forests, consuming the dry tinder that beckoned their flames. Or maybe it was a combination of everything, or just nature at work; whatever happened, it had left the world in hell. When the streets erupted into rioting and the cities were consumed with anarchy, the Senate had simply had enough and had fled, to who knows where, with a few lucky citizens and most of the remaining armed forces. My civilization had ended; but my story had just begun.

I trudged down the pavement, enjoying the smooth grade as it descended from the peak of the lazy hill down to the plains below. There were cars abandoned on the roadside, but there were no signs of struggle or a furious flight; rather, they just looked like their occupants had decided to walk the rest of the way, parking them neatly on the side of the road in orderly lines and leaving them nice and empty, their belongings long gone. Toting my stone pickaxe and double-barreled shotgun on my shoulder, along with the backpack of supplies, I passed more cars as I started to walk on the plains. The grass was choked with ash, and the sky was a dull, emotionless gray, choked with ashes and dust from the monstrous wildfires. There were small cracks in the earth, indicative of the power of the earthquake that had happened so far away, and here and there the charred ruins of planes big and small were driven into the soil, the only reminder of the massive solar flare from two months ago that knocked out all electronics and sent every plane catapulting to earth.

It was less than an hour before I entered the urban sprawl, started to see houses and restaurants, crafting guilds and minecart stations. There were some trees, but their leaves had long fallen off, and they were dying. The city looked to be in good condition, at least on the outskirts. Here and there were scenes of destruction or damage, and most of the convenience or department stores were looted and trashed, their windows broken and their shelves empty.

I found a prim little house on a street whose sign was gone; it was simply gone. The little bungalow was made of brick, a rare building material due to the rarity of clay, and its roof, despite having lost some shingles, was relatively intact and looked very strong. The windows were not busted out, unlike those of the neighboring homes; in fact, it looked like the owners were still inside, having left everything where it was. There were no suitcases packed and left behind in a hurry, no door left open in the rush to evacuate, as with all the other houses. It looked so tranquil…too tranquil. It felt wrong, to defile this dwelling that seemed so prim and clean. But I found myself kicking in the oak door, and letting it fall to the tiled floor with a crash that echoed throughout the neighborhood. It was the only sound; no birds, no gunfire, not even wind. It was just a lonely world under that gray sky, the sun dimmed by the ash and the clouds idly surfing the atmospheric winds, oblivious to the anarchy that had ruled the cities below it.

I began to examine the house, search it for anything of use. The porkchops had gone bad a few days ago, and the bread was getting stale; I was praying for some canned food or even some more bread, no matter how old it was. It had only been two weeks since the evacuation; if it was kept sealed, bread in this house might still be good to eat.

My journey would begin due to my damned curiosity; I wondered what might be in the pantry of the kitchen, if any canned or dehydrated food was in there. If there was, it would be a gold mine for me; most of the houses nearby had already been looted, and they would be empty. This one looked full of riches; I decided to open the pantry door, and it would be the biggest mistake of my life.

A decomposing body fell onto me, immediately choking the air with its stench. I reacted rather rashly; I whipped out the shotgun in the blink of an eye, an instinct I had developed in case of bandits, and fired into the body, which was already dead. I had simply wasted a slug on the corpse; the pantry door was now painted with a lurid mural of bodily fluids, multicolored thanks to days of decomposition. The smell was terrible, and as I threw the body off me I wanted to vomit, but resisted the urge; I needed to keep my lunch with me, in case I couldn't find any food.

"Talk about skeletons in your closet…" I muttered to myself. I often spoke to myself to ward off the gnawing feeling of insanity and loneliness. It would have helped to find a pet or even another human being, but I would rather have a pet. Every city I had been in was a battleground so far; there had been gunshots daily, as the remaining human beings fought for simple survival, like base animals. I would rather have one actual animal than all the conniving, thieving rats of humans who now populated our once glorious nation.

The pantry was full of goods, dehydrated food and canned goods, as well as water in large gallon jugs. I could have cried for joy, seeing the gold mine in front of me, alluring with its promise of days' worth of water and food. This single discovery prompted me to settle in this home, however lonely it was. I was so overjoyed over my loot that I barely noticed the letter in the dead man's pocket. His body was still there, lying on the linoleum floor like a ragdoll, oozing some sort of nasty-smelling pus onto the floor. Despite having relieved him of half of his upper body, the note was still intact on his left side, and without a drop of blood on it. Again possessed by my damned curiosity, I withdrew the note from his pocket, and uncurled it, wondering what secrets it could possibly enlighten me to. It was written in fine handwriting, and was only a few days old:

_Dear Mr. Hawthorn_

_ My research, as of July 3__rd__, has concluded that his artifact of power is indeed real, and rare it is. It is something beyond our realm, something we fail to see because of the "dimensional curtain" that parts us from it, much like a shower curtain parts a stall from the bathroom. This curtain can only be breached with enough energy, and that energy can only be obtained through the experimental fusion reactors your Senate has recently shut down due to these so-called "budget cuts" that disgust me. Despite this, I have analyzed the residue of the object in question, as we have not given it a name yet, and have derived energy samples from it that far outweigh that of any energy source we had today, even that of the sun. Having no actual object here in our dimension and having no way to breach the curtain, we are powerless right now, as our residue has no power whatsoever, being too miniscule to power anything larger than a lightbulb. However, if you can get us the energy needed to penetrate this "curtain", we will be able to provide you with unlimited energy, so to speak. _

_Kind regards,_

_Dr. Kagsttrom, PhD, EMS_

Reading the note curiously, I decided to keep it for future reference. Whatever this doctor/scientist was referring to, I wanted no part of it. It all sounded too powerful, too much power for a single man to control. I decided to ignore it for now and began to settle in to what I had established as my new home, at least for now. The food would last weeks and there seemed to be no human presence nearby. After I buried the dead man's body in the backyard, I settled in downstairs, tucking myself into bed after having locked all of the doors and windows, or at least barricaded them with furniture. This was the first time it felt good to be alone, all by myself.

But, of course, it was too good to last. And little did I know that I wasn't alone.

Far from it.


	2. Family

Something woke me in the night, a sound from outside. In my dreamy daze, I couldn't place the noise; it sounded like a thump coming from upstairs. I was sleeping in the basement of the abandoned house I had found; there were a few crafting tables and furnaces down here, along with assorted furniture, but nothing else. The doctor who had once lived here, now buried in the fresh dirt of his own backyard, had given the appearance of a pauper, having possessed little in the way of fancy furniture or electronics, and having purchased large quantities of cheap food now stored in the pantry. What little furniture he had upstairs I had used to blockade both doors; I heard more scraping upstairs.

_Is there someone up there? Is it an animal…or human?_

The idea of another person was as dreadful as it was welcoming; to have another human presence to speak to and to share emotion with would be welcome indeed. However, since anarchy had reigned, the human beings in had come across in my previous travels were little more than looters and scavengers, destitute rats who would kill another person just for the clothes on their back. As I couldn't gain the courage to see what the noise was, I retrieved the stone pickaxe I had from my backpack, which was lying in the nearest corner.

I crept towards the stairs, listening intently to the scuffling coming from above. It sounded like grunting as well, as if someone was laboring to move my barricades. It couldn't be an animal; the noises could be made only by a human. Apprehensive about the presence of another human, presumably one that was hostile, I stayed in my dark little corner at the foot of the unlit stairs. The shuffling and thumping was becoming more violent, as if the person was attempting to throw the furniture aside.

Or…

There was someone else up there. The thought of two people was something unimaginable; though they may be fighting each other, the victor of the little scuffle might have been just as hostile as the loser. They could both be looters, fighting one another for the goods secreted away in the upstairs pantry. Although I was usually not a risk-taker, I decided it was worth the effort and danger. Rushing back to my pack to retrieve the shotgun, I kept listening intently to the sounds from above. I knew that it wouldn't last much longer; I was waiting for the sound of a gunshot, the signal that one of the fighters had won and had murdered his opponent. None came; I dashed up the stairs, shotgun in hand, and turned the corner into the anteroom just in time to see a young blonde deliver the knockout blow to a beefy, muscular biker with a leather jacket and a .45 strapped to his waist. The iron pickaxe strapped to his back hung loose, the fibers of the rope that held it torn and frayed; he was burly, at least two hundred pounds, with dirty blond hair and a thin, ragged ponytail tied at his neck. The young woman had a cricket bat in her hand, kneeling besides the muscular looter. She didn't look like a looter or robber; her hair was neat and well-washed, and her clothes looked clean and fresh. Nevertheless, I wasn't about to take any chances.

"Drop the bat—just…please drop it!" I yelled, my voice shaky. I knew I had no ounce of commanding force in my voice normally, and I must've sounded scared out of my wits then, even though I was trying to get the situation under control then. The young woman obeyed, but made some sort of jerking movement with her shoulder, then her upper arm. I tried to figure out what she was doing, but the blow came down on my head before I could.

It wasn't the iron frying pan that knocked me unconscious; my skull was strong, and I could resist the blow, although it made my dizzy and sent me down to the floor. I tried to reach back and reach for my attacker, but I hit the linoleum before I could. That was what knocked me out; I could hear more scuffling after that, and felt a boot come down hard on my back right as I snapped into unconsciousness.

xXXXXXXXXXXXXXx

I woke up somewhere strange, unusual; my first thought, as the world began to come into focus above me, was that the looter had taken me. He must have been with the woman, and they had worked together to take down the beefy man who, for all I knew, was still on the floor of the doctor's suburban home. I was their prisoner now; my shirt was gone, although thankfully I still wore my ragged pants, and they had probably taken my equipment, as well as all the food in the pantry. As the blurriness began to disappear, a cold feeling came to my forehead, and I realized that a cold cloth was being applied.

"Well, that was a nasty hit…you've still got a bit of a fever, I suppose that's natural…"

The voice was foreign, new to me; I wanted to panic, realizing that I was now a captive, but I couldn't move. My body simply wouldn't. I was not bound, I was not tied down by ropes or chains; I was free, but my arms and legs refused to move. They ached like hell; the woman stopped dabbing my forehead and looked me straight in the eyes.

"You'll be fine. Just a little blow, nothing to worry about. Once your head clears up you'll be back on your feet, eh?"

The blonde from the house stood over me, her bright blue eyes cheerful. As I began to return to the world, and sat up, I realized that this was not a prison. There were no big, burly looters or gangbangers hanging around; rather the people around me looked rather civilized by comparison. They wore jeans or military fatigues, and some of them wore mining clothes. They all looked tired, but they seemed to have a purpose other than looting and stealing. The building was clean and well-organized, with large containers full of cans of food and ammo stacked neatly in the corners. There were several beds and even a small kitchen area for preparing food. A generator hummed nearby, with several empty canisters of gasoline strewn around its bulky body.

"Where…the hell…am I…"

"Well, we call it Home Sweet Home…" the blonde laughed, throwing her hair back over her shoulders casually. "If you must know, you're in the 1600 Block of Gemstone Boulevard. Not far from downtown, just a few miles…"

I was not a prisoner here, at least I thought not; several of the others came to me, their curious eyes studying me from head to toe. I was a bit self-conscious about not have a shirt, but that matter was fixed when the young woman handed me a clean, pure white tee, which smelled very much like lavender.

"Your old shirt looked pretty dirty, so I figured you wouldn't mind a replacement. We didn't want to remove your…erm…pants…"

She blushed noticeably, and I found myself chuckling for the first time in days.

"What's so funny?" she smirked, tapping me on the shoulder gently. One of the men, dressed in military fatigues and police gear, knelt down beside me and shook my hand.

"So this is the guy, Celine? You just found him?" the man asked. His voice was thick as _borscht_, but he had a friendly, benign tone.

"Just found him in that house. He seemed to have made himself at home," she laughed. The people had now dispersed to their jobs, some of them even leaving the room, leaving me with the blonde named Celine and the new man.

"Heh…well, he looks like the survivor type. What's your name, son?"

"Er…Leon…Leon Walker, sir…"

I hadn't used my name in weeks, or heard it; I had nearly forgotten it. Once your name is lost to time, when everyone has forgotten it, it becomes hard to remember yourself.

"Leon Walker? Where you from?"

"Coastal City…down by the shoreline," I grumbled, my head still heavy from the blow.

"I had family from Coastal City. Name's Ari by the way, Ari Kulovka." He shook my hand heartily.

"Had?"

"Had…don't know what happened to them. Hardly anyone knows what happened to their families. We gathered here, from all over the nation…survivors, soldiers, ordinary people lost in the chaos. We're a new family now…what's done is done, and what's gone is gone. There's nothing we can do about it."

Ari looked sad as he spoke this truth; his eyes shone with a distant sadness. It seemed to me it was less of a loss of his family than the loss of the life he had come to cherish.

"Well, anyway…you're with us now, Leon. A new life."

"I'm…not prisoner here, am I?" I asked tentatively. He laughed, which did nothing to help, but he assuaged my fears almost instantly.

"No, no…you're free to go, if you wish. But do you really want to be on your own out there?"

Ari's hand swept towards the back of my head, and I realized that there was a massive window behind me. Turning around, straining, I saw downtown Langsford Peak.

The downtown area, in comparison to the suburbs, was a warzone. The streets were littered with debris and broken, busted cars. Buildings were falling apart, some of them were completely destroyed. The path of what I assumed to be a tornado was obvious in one neighborhood, with houses completely flattened and trees bent and stripped of everything. It was a warzone; one of the skyscrapers was missing part of its superstructure; I assumed a plane had cleaved right through it. Another skyscraper had collapsed completely, its skeletal ruins choked with ash. The sky was still gray; I had come to accept that as a fact of life.

"I…don't think so," I said hesitantly, and Ari laughed again, patting my back.

"You're more than welcome here, Leon. We'll be alright."

He smiled, then head back off, out of the room door. Celine winked at me, her hand still on my shoulder, and then left me to sleep peacefully.

I had a family now; it was a feeling I had never felt before, and it felt so precious.


	3. Hand in Hand

It felt strange, being part of a family. I had never married or had any siblings when I was young; my father had died early of liver failure, brought on by his excessive alcoholism while mining out in the mountains. Both of my uncles were killed in the same creeper attack while mining and my mother died when I was fifteen of tuberculosis. I was left in the hands of a rather deranged aunt until I was twenty-two, when I left Coastal City for opportunities elsewhere. Luckily I left before the tsunami hit; I heard about it in a dingy motel while heading west, the ninety-foot high waves from the powerful offshore earthquake. The images were gut-wrenching, the scattered debris and acres upon acres of empty, soggy space where buildings once stood. I had no connections to that place anymore; I had not had a true family, until now.

I quickly began to learn the names of the people assembled here:

Ari, the leader of the group, hailed from the mountains of the Far East and had been a redstone miner.

Celine was a medical expert as well as a scavenger, and had been searching for gasoline when she stumbled upon me.

Derek was another medical expert as well as a cook, and had worked at a four-star restaurant in the Capital before the "Apocalypse".

Rina had a bachelor's degree in advanced engineering and was in charge of electricity.

Marcus was an alcoholic and had been arrested for grand theft auto, but he was apparently a good shot and had a welcoming attitude when he was sober.

We had a few military troops here, and some civil police, but there were only four by my understanding. Besides these people who greeted me and spoke with me, there were about a dozen others in the apartment, on the top two floors of the complex. It was the closest thing to a community I had seen since leaving that dirty motel sixty miles from Coastal City and heading to wherever the winds blew. I had heard about the mass evacuations to the distant western continent that had never been settled, explored more than a hundred years ago, but it seemed like one big pipe dream to me. I had decided to hedge my bets in the ruins of civilization rather than go west.

Thus I found myself sitting in a small, humid room on the tenth and top floor, listening to Ari as he spoke to Celine and me.

"You didn't get the gasoline yesterday, so…we're running even lower on supplies today. By tomorrow we'll be running on fumes," Ari spoke, twiddling his fingers nervously. He was referring to the generator; it was running low on fuel.

"Well, I had a bit of a problem…" Celine drawled, and punched me lightly in the arm. She was a very playful young woman, at the same time very intelligent and thoughtful as well as caring. We were already very close, seeing as I had saved her life and she had saved mine.

"Yes, well this is becoming an emergency now," Ari snapped, and Celine immediately turned her full attention to him.

"I understand—"

"Apparently you don't. Yes, I know he was unconscious, but…you have a responsibility to our community. I mean no offense to Mr. Walker here…"

I could sense that he was avoiding a pitfall here. What he was saying was that she should have left me behind instead. I understood his point of view, but I did not agree with it.

"…but he was just a random stranger. You couldn't have trusted him any more than those who attacked you—"

"But he saved me, Ari!" she snapped, obviously angered. I was impressed at how quickly she came to my defense, having known me for less than a day. "He saved me from those others—it was the right thing to do! Aren't you always saying that you must do what is right? Wasn't that your motto?"

Ari glared at her angrily momentarily, and then subsided. Celine did as well; she could tell that there was no sense in arguing any more.

"Well…that doesn't matter now. Leon's part of our group, and now he has the same responsibility as us," Ari muttered, shaking his head.

"We can still get the gas—"

"That's exactly what I want you to do. But Leon will go as well…I need him to help you and the more gasoline you can bring back, the better. But we can't afford any more diversions…understand?" This last sentence he spoke more to Celine than to me. She nodded sharply.

"Very well then. Be back before dark, we need that fuel."

xXXXXXXXXXXXx

I found myself two hours later in the same suburbs that I had encountered previously, away from the devastation of downtown. Celine and I walked alone under the gray sky, trotting over broken glass and scattered debris on the street as we walked.

"Avoid the ash, Leon," she said absentmindedly, and I noticed I was walking through a thick layer of ash.

"I…"

"You'll leave footprints. It's never a good idea to leave footprints, no matter how safe you feel."

I hurriedly threw ash over the prints I had left to cover them up, and ran to catch up with her.

"I'm sorry about that earlier, with Ari," she said to me, holding an empty pack with one hand and an ancient-looking lever action rifle with the other. "He…wasn't hot on the idea of welcoming you in initially. But once he met you…well…"

"It's not me, is it?" I asked tentatively. "I don't want to be a bother—"

"No, it's not you. He was angry with me, angrier about the lack of supplies than with you. As I said, he was initially uncomfortable but he's taken a liking to you. I suppose you seem trustworthy."

"Do you trust me?" It was a heavy question that I asked her; it took a long time to establish a bond of trust between two people. But she answered almost instantly.

"Of course I trust you. You saved my life, Leon…I would have suffered at the hands of those robbers, and I couldn't have taken them both on. You…served as a distraction…"

She blushed, and I found myself laughing again. I hadn't really _saved _her life necessarily; I had, however been a shield for her, taking the blow that would've otherwise knocked her unconscious.

"Do you trust _me_?" she asked, smiling. I nodded.

"Well…yeah. You actually did save my life, so…yeah…"

She laughed again, and then I felt her clasp her hand around mine. It was a weird feeling, kind of awkward; it took me a moment to realize that we were holding hands. I saw it in a puddle of somewhat murky water below us. Her light blonde hair in stark contrast to my smooth, sleek black hair and slight facial hair. Her face was smooth and soft, whereas mine was hardened and jutting slightly, especially the chin and forehead. Her clean, strong fingers gripped mine, and it all disappeared as we stepped over the puddle together.

"Oh!"

At first I thought that she realized this, and let go. But looking up, I saw what surprised her.

The tall black humanoid was at least eight feet tall, if not more. His arms were long and smooth, and at the end pointed black claws were fully extended, each at least eight inches long. Its emotionless purple eyes stared us down, and it seemed like it was studying us from head to toe, curious.

"That…I've seen those before…they only started to appear…recently…" Celine spoke, her voice shaky. I expected the creature to lash out at us; it looked aggressive enough. But it simply stood there, watching us intently, standing in a dim ray of afternoon sunlight that had poked through the ashen layer of clouds. After a few tense moments, it began to stalk off into a nearby neighborhood. It nodded at me just slightly, as if accepting my presence, then began to slowly walk off, leaving no prints behind in the ash it meandered through.

"Jesus…that's not natural," Celine gasped, holding her knees. She was shaking, out of fear I suppose; the thing had not seemed too frightening once you had seen it in clear light, and it had almost seemed somewhat friendly.

"You alright?" I asked her, leaning down. She rubbed her eyes, blinked a few times, then stood back up straight.

"Yeah, yeah…I'm good. We need to get going."

We walked another mile and a half before Celine pointed to something in the distance.

"That's the station—I think it has the only gas left in the city. That's where I was headed yesterday," she said, still pointing to a Redstone Co. gas station about five-hundred feet from us. It seemed empty; I couldn't see any signs of looting, although a few windows were cracked. The parking lot was full of abandoned cars; most of them were still full of luggage and packages, as if their owners had departed without another thought to them.

"We need at least twenty gallons, that should do it for about four days or so…"

As I stepped into the gas station's storage room, I realized that my little community was on the brink of disaster. There were less than fifty gallons of gasoline in there, enough for about a week and a half of fuel, provided that no one else took it. If that generator ran dry…

"Celine…what happens when the generator runs dry?" I asked her, cautious not to show any fear or panic.

"Well…no electricity," she said matter-of-factly. "We'll use charcoal for cooking, but once the generator runs dry, unless we find more gas…"

She had the same idea as I did as I hefted five-gallon containers of gasoline into the pack.

"I'll carry some of it—"

"No, no, my pack will do, just put them in there—"

I shook my head.

"I've got a free hand. I can carry some of it," I offered. Celine didn't look too happy—I assumed she was the independent, do-it-yourself type.

"Alright…but don't complain about the load," she muttered, hauling the bag of gasoline outside.

I heard a click then, and a single beam of red light shone on Celine's forehead. From the storage room, I could see her out in the lobby, and she saw the beam. She stopped dead in her tracks, petrified. It was a laser beam, from a sniper rifle; I had seen it before on television, during the riots in the capital when the military resorted to using snipers to corral the crowds.

"If you take one more step, bitch, imma gonna blow your little head off!" Someone yelled. That gruff voice and tone could only mean that the looters were back, and this time they were ready to kill.

And I could see more of them. We were outnumbered two to one.


	4. Ambush

"You take one step…I'll pull this trigger in a second!" the gruff voice called. I noticed that the red beam was emanating from the roof of a drugstore across the street, where I could make out the bare shape of a burly man lying prone on the surface. I could see the figures of four men creeping along the sidewalks slowly towards the gas station; all of them were lightly armed, but dangerous-looking.

"Leon…Leon…" Celine hissed, trying not to attract attention. The laser was still planted firmly on her forehead. She did not move or try to escape, but whispered to me. I was out of sight of the bandits; as I was still back in the storage room, they assumed that she was alone again.

"Leon…take the storage exit door…you need to get up to the roof of that store, and fast. I can't move, he'll pull the trigger…_go_!" I needn't any encouragement; quietly, I opened the storage room's back door and slipped out onto the street, which was jammed with rusting cars. The bandits were still sneaking around to the gas station, taking caution.

"You alone in there, girl?" the voice roared. The man seemed exuberant; perhaps he thought that this was his moment of triumph, and the girl and gas would be his.

"No one but me," Celine said, the contempt in her voice obvious.

"Like hell I'll take your word for it. You just stay rooted to that spot, and my boys will take care of everything else," he sneered. Their voices carried in the silence of this gray world; even behind a logjam of cars I could hear them.

I snuck around behind the strip mall that the drugstore was part of; I could run now, I was out of earshot of the bandits. Quickly, hesitating as I avoided some shards of glass, I grabbed hold of the ladder leading up to the roof of the drugstore and began to pull myself up, careful not to make any noise. The ladder was completely silent; no creaking, no rattling, nothing. I was a silent predator, twenty feet away from my prey.

"I wonder what we'll do with you when you're with us…left a nasty welt on Jimmy's head yesterday, ya did. You'll have to pay him back for that," the sniper sneered. He was your stereotypical wasteland bandit; burly, bearded, with a dirty ponytail tied up in the back, with a leather jacket and slackened jeans. A .45 was holstered to his hip, lying idly by his side.

"Well…what can I say?" Celine called out as one of the bandits neared the open storage room door.

"We'll see what my d—"

"Hey boss, this door wasn't open before—"

Before the bandit could finish his sentence, I jumped the sniper. One of the looters had noticed the open storage room door; it had been closed, visible from my position, and the sniper hadn't even noticed. I wrestled with the bandit, using my free hand to wrangle the .45 from the holster. He had my leg pinned beneath his weight, and it was beginning to hurt and twist under the pressure. I tried not to attract attention, but the bandit grabbed my wrist, trying to pull it off of the handgun, and my finger slipped and pulled the trigger.

The barrel was aimed right at his pelvis. The bullet roared out of its chamber and tore into his body, ripping through the leather jacket like paper. The sniper roared in pain, doubling over and dropping the rifle onto the roof. There were yells from below, and gunshots; one of the looters had a semiautomatic weapon, by the repetitive crackling. I prayed to Notch that Celine was alright, then used leverage to throw the bulky bandit over my leg and off the side of the roof, down onto a car below.

"Goddamnit! There's one up on the roof—"

The bandit by the storage door had no chance to finish his sentence. I had picked up the sniper rifle and had already pulled a shot off, hitting him directly in the head. Through the optics I could see the blood spray, and the bandit's lifeless ragdoll thrown up into the air by the force of the blast and down into a small gulley that formed the boundary between the gas station and a nearby minecart station. Gunfire was now aimed at me, and I was forced to get down low to avoid the flying bullets. Most of them fell far off the mark; I was able to take another one of them down before a bullet pinged right off the edge of the roof, sending bits of caulkwork and dust into my face.

I was forced to pull back a bit and try another attempt. I heard another scream of pain, a gruff roar, and knew that one of the bandits had been shot; whether it was the shooter who was aimed at me or the other guy, I did not know. But the bullet fire had stopped; after a few tense seconds, I dared to look off of the edge of the roof onto the scene below.

One of the bandit bodies was down in the gulley; the sniper lay unconscious in the truck, still bleeding. One of them lay flat in the middle of the road in a pool of blood, and I could see the leg of a third behind a pickup. Celine had a perfect shot on him; he was right in front of him, and her lever action had proved its worth. I could see her stumbling out of the gas station; my first thought was that she was wounded, as she clutched the door handle precariously. But she waved and smiled at me, evaporating any fears I had about her safety.

"Nice little rumble there, eh?" she joked as I returned to the station. She was shaken, but completely unharmed. The fifth bandit had fled the scene apparently; by the time I reached the sniper to see if we could help him, he had bled to death in the back of the pickup, his face a picture of agony in his final moments.

"It's a shame," she muttered, closing the man's eyelids.

"How?"

"I could've done something for him…I could've patched that up if I had enough time. It would buy him a little more time, maybe enough to do surgery…" She sighed.

"Why are you sorry for him? He tried to kill you," I pointed out. My leg still ached from our wrestling match on the roof, when he pinned it beneath the bulk of his body.

"We're all human beings, aren't we?" she asked pointedly. "Deep down…we all share the same emotions. Who knows who he was before all of this…but we're still human beings."

She seemed sad, but this spell lifted quickly. She was happy to have procured enough gasoline for another three days.

"They'll probably take the rest of it. But we can make it last…use the generator sparingly, only for emergencies," she said cheerfully.

"There's got to be more gas in town," I said, thinking of the massive industrial complexes by the river. "What about the industrial park over by the river? I'm sure they had stockpiles," I thought aloud.

"Well…yes…they do, in fact."

"Then why haven't we—"

"There's a slight problem. Some of the corporate bigwigs thought it would be a good idea to set up sniper turrets on the roof of their complexes, to defend against 'robbers'. They gave no thought to those of us just trying to survive," Celine spoke, wincing as she accidentally stepped into a puddle.

"So…"

"Yes, there is gas there. Tens of thousands of gallons, just sitting in massive vats. But those sniper turrets…a group of looters went there once. I watched them try to get in; only two made it back, out of nine. And they were just guarding the gates against anyone who might follow them."

I shuddered; if they had enough money to place turrets up there…what else could they have left?

"Speaking of snipers…nice shooting up there," she said, patting my back. Again, she grasped my hand after that, and we walked hand in hand all the way back to the apartment. Our packs were laden with gasoline, and despite our little adventure, the day had ended relatively well.

My mind was still on the industrial park, though. If there was gasoline stored there...what _else_ could be there?


	5. Sunday Night

**A/N: Dear readers…I'd like to thank you guys for reviewing this and of course reading it. I just like to give credit to people who take time out of their lives to keep up with this, so big thanks to you guys! **

I was growing accustomed to the people that I lived with in our little apartment. Twenty-four of us, all living on two levels, safe and secure in our little makeshift fortress.

"She seems to have taken a fancy to you."

I was filling the tiny generator that provided power to our two floors with Rina, the engineer. Of Asian descent, Rina's shiny black hair was short and reached down only to her neck; there was a small scar arcing across her forehead and her small green eyes were full of light, quite the opposite of Marcus, who had turned out to be not-so-cheerful when he was drunk, which was most of the time.

"Hmm? Oh, you mean…Celine?" I asked, hardly bothering to look up from the filter I was pouring gasoline into. The thick, nauseating smell of gas was punctuated by the aroma of a stew cooking on the top-level balcony, over an open fire.

"Yeah. Don't think I haven't noticed…she definitely likes you."

Rina smiled, and I questioned whether or not she had seen us holding hands on the way back to the apartment, after our little scuffle with the bandits. I poured the last five gallons in, and the gasoline sloshed around inside the filter as I set the empty canister aside and plugged the nozzle up.

"Well…she did save my life. And I _did _save hers," I smirked.

"She doesn't take to strangers well. She still hasn't found a way to get along with Marcus…then again, nobody really has…"

Rina smiled devilishly at Marcus, who was sitting in the corner cleaning his rifle. He shot Rina a dirty look, took a swig from a bottle of brandy, then returned to his cleaning, absentmindedly muttering to himself.

"Don't drink that whole bottle," Rina said mockingly, as if warning a child.

"Ach…leave me the hell alone woman, you can't tell me what to do…" Marcus took another gulp from his bottle, slammed it against the ground and returned to his cleaning once more, whistling the tune to "Ward".

"Gotta love that man. He may be an old sourpuss, but he knows his way around a rifle," Rina said, then threw her dirty gloves aside.

"Job well done, Leon. Thanks for the help," she said, patting me on the shoulder. She smiled once more, in that same mischievous way then left the room, leaving me alone with Marcus and Derek, both of whom were absorbed in their duties. I decided it would be better to chat with Derek for a little while; Marcus didn't seem like the chatty type.

I strolled over onto the balcony; the sky was, as usual, gray. Nothing new here. The smells from the vat of soup were heavenly; Derek, with limited materials, seemed to be putting together a masterpiece.

"Sunday evening's Soup Night. I don't have resources to do it every night, so we make it a special treat…want a taste?" he offered, ladling out a steaming spoonful of yellowish stew. I gladly accepted it; the cool tastes of oregano and mint coupled with the natural flavor of the chicken.

"Delicious," I said, my mouth full.

"It's the best I can do with such limited supplies. We mostly eat canned or dehydrated—all the fresh food's gone bad. I have to use dehydrated chicken or beef if I want to make a meat recipe."

As Derek returned to his stirring, I heard something in the still evening air. The sky was darkening; something was different. I heard a sound, but I just couldn't place it. Maybe it was just in my head; I shook it, and the sound seemed to go away.

"This soup will go good with that brandy, Marcus, trust me. You'll want to save some for dinner," Derek called playfully. As expected, Marcus retorted angrily.

"Plenty of brandy left in the cabinet…don't tell me how much to drink, to hell with you," Marcus spat, sounding drunker by the minute.

The sound was returning again; it started to get louder. I shook my head again, tried to slap my forehead with my palm. It was dissipating, but this time it wouldn't go away.

"Something wrong?"

Derek had turned around and, with a puzzled expression on his face, was studying the angry red mark my palm had made on my forehead.

"Just…just a bug. Landed on me," I excused myself weakly. He seemed to accept it, shrugging, and turned back around to his stirring. The door opened behind me, and I heard footsteps.

"Smells great, Derek…what's in it?"

Celine was right behind me, standing at the opposite edge of the soup bowl.

"Oregano, mint, some chicken…makes a great dish however served," he laughed.

The noise wouldn't go away. It was getting louder now…a hum, a distant hum. It wasn't in my head…it was something outside…

"Anybody else…hear something?" I asked.

"Hmm?"

"Hear something?" Derek answered almost absentmindedly, still poring over his vat of soup.

"I…do hear something—"

Celine was unable to finish her sentence. Coming almost right around the apartment's corner, a massive helicopter flew right past the balcony. It was about a hundred feet away from us, but we could see people on it; dressed in black and toting weapons, they looked like soldiers or special operations. The attack helicopter banked right around the opposite edge of the building and then disappeared, and the hum of the rotor blades began to fade away.

For a moment, we were all awestruck. It was Marcus who broke the silence, sitting in his isolated corner.

"A helicopter…well I'll be damned…"

As he resumed his drinking, Derek and Celine began to join in.

"I haven't seen a helicopter since the evacuations ended…"

"What the hell are they doing back here then?" Derek asked, forgetting completely about his soup. We had lost track of it as it disappeared into the darkening skies; all I knew was that it was headed east; towards the suburbs I had entered on my first day.

"I can't say…there's no reason why they'd go out east. _If _they were to come back—"

"—which is preposterous, I don't see why—"Derek chimed in.

"—they'd go to either downtown or the industrial park. Why out to the city boundaries?"

I didn't speak up through any of this. I had a gut feeling that they were going east for a reason; I had a gut feeling this was all somehow connected to that scientist's corpse I had found in the house. I still had the note with me, tucked deep into the pockets of my pants.

"A damn helicopter. Well, they aren't coming for us, that's for sure. Only thing we can do is wait and see where it goes next."

Derek returned to his stirring, and called everyone to dinner. He had to repeat his call several times, but one by one people filed through the door with empty ceramic bowls in hand, eagerly waiting for their helpings.

"One at a time, one at a time please," Derek chimed kindly, ladling large spoonfuls of the stew into each bowl.

"Where's Ari?" I asked Celine, whispering. Marcus had roused himself from his drowsy slumber, stumbled over to the cauldron, and taken his share before returning to his place.

"Why…do you need him?" she asked, taking her own bowl.

"I just wanted a quick word with him…nothing too important," I lied. I wanted to talk to him about my thoughts on the industrial complex, which seemed to continually beckon me.

"He's in weapons storage, on our bottom floor," she answered before digging into her meal, while still standing up on the balcony. Without another word I whisked off out the door and down to the ninth floor, where the storage areas were. I found Ari in the weapons room, poring over a list of equipment and ammunition that was taped next to the light switch.

"Can I help you?" he asked rather absentmindedly, focused on reading his list.

"I…had something I'd like to discuss. It's about supplies…"

"Go on," he said.

"It's…the industrial park, down by the river—"

Ari snapped from the list to me in less than a second. His eyes shone with a bright fire that could only be interpreted as exuberance.

"You…you found a way in? Did you?" he whispered, keeping his voice low but doing nothing to hide his excitement.

"Well…no, that's actually what I wanted to talk to you about…"

His face darkened as soon as I had destroyed the promise of a safe entry; apparently he was expecting me to hold the key to entering the park.

"Well, then, what do you have to say about it? I know there's supplies crammed in there—the dockyards will have thousands of tonnes of canned food and ammunition stored, and who knows how much gasoline and chemicals are stored there…"

"I was thinking perhaps we could take the city sewers? If they're not flooded or damaged—"

"Sewers aren't flooded," Ari answered, but he didn't sound hopeful. "But there's already a hostile group down there, in the main cistern…that's the only way we can access the park, as far as I know. There's another tunnel that leads beneath the business loop, but it's collapsed and could take weeks to clear out. So there's no clear way underground."

I was disappointed; deep down I should've know that all methods had been tried and tested to enter that complex, as alluring as it was.

"You said there was a hostile group in the cistern?"

Ari's face immediately darkened.

"We're not attacking them. They have military-grade weaponry, and we have squat. We'll stand no chance, Leon…I like how you're trying to care for the community, but you simply can't take these risks."

It occurred to me that this conversation was over; I decided to leave it be, still puzzling over how to get into that complex. It _was _possible…either clearing the rubble, which would take way too long, or going through that hostile camp…

We would run out of resources eventually, and there would be nothing left to scavenge in the city. Somehow I had to get in there, and that entire night was spent dreaming, dreams of myself entering that complex and not only finding food and gas but something else…they were all shaped like rods, perfectly cylindrical, blazing yellow with some kind of fiery, potent fury…

When I awoke next morning, the dreams puzzled me so much. Those rods…they seemed to be familiar, yet I had never seen them before. I decided to shake it all off as just a dream, something beyond reality, and eagerly rose for breakfast.

But no matter what, sooner or later they would return to haunt me.


	6. Strangers in Our Midst

I couldn't stop thinking about those glowing rods I had seen in my dreams. They weren't like plutonium or uranium, they weren't green; they were bright yellow, glowing with a fire fiercer than that of any earthly flame. I couldn't kick the dream, couldn't think of anything besides it in the morning, until I went out to scavenge.

"We need fuel of a different sort. Charcoal, specifically," Ari had told me as I pondered his words over a bowl of cold cereal, watching him.

"Charcoal? Where—"

"The park is only three blocks down, closer than any store. And after your little rumble yesterday, I'd like to avoid any trouble, so I want you two to stay close to home."

The park was a great source of trees, and therefore charcoal; I happily agreed when he mentioned that Celine, as the most qualified scavenger, would be coming along with me.

"Take good care of her, Leon," he said with a smile as he left me to reload my weapon in the storage room. "You two return back by dark."

I nodded my assent and, gathering both my trusty pickaxe and double-barrel, prepared to head out.

xXXXXXXXXXXXXXx

"The trees here are still alive; although I'm sure they'll die soon enough from lack of sunlight."

Celine seemed positively optimistic as we headed out on our day's journey. The closer we got to St. Laurent's Downtown Park, the trashier the streets were; some cars were overturned, others fried down to their gears and frame. There were bones in the street too, covered in various bits of clothing; I tried to avoid looking at them, but they reflected what little sunlight streamed in from the clouds above.

"It's clearer to the west…maybe there is hope over there after all," Celine remarked, gazing out towards the western horizon. Indeed, there was light coming from there, and the gray haze was less prominent.

We reached St. Laurent's Park in less than half an hour, with our packs nearly empty and our hands industrious and ready to go.

"Ari said to be back by sundown, so we have quite a bit of time to spend here," Celine said. It sounded as if she had spoken to no one in particular, but it felt like she was suggesting that we spend time together, just us. Trying to remain neutral on the matter, I simply smiled back and pulled out the pickaxe.

"Would've been nice to have an actual axe," I grunted as I swung, hewing a large mark into the base of the willow tree.

"Yeah…but we can't have everything, can we?" she said, sitting down on a dusty park bench. There were a few ducks in a nearby pond, which was starting to fill up with ash. Here and there flowers and grass poked through the light gray layer, which had dusted the trees as well.

"It falls every day," she remarked lazily, taking a loaf of ciabatta bread out of her backpack and tossing a few chunks to the ducks, who eagerly raced to claim their share.

"Nothing we can do about it."

With a last stroke, the tree gave a mighty groan that spoke of ages of living and then began to fall towards the pond. The ducks, in their terror, fled, flying straight off the surface of the water and disappearing down the street. The tree hit the water with a mighty, thunderous splash, dipping its long, swishy branches deep into the pond.

"Need some help chopping that up?" Celine asked enthusiastically. I pointed out that I had only one tool for taking it down, and that I should do it. She simply shrugged and returned to her sitting, but as I began to hack away at the wood to chop it up into useful pieces, she pointed something out.

"Leon…over there…"

I straightened up immediately, throwing the pickaxe aside and rushing for the backpack, where my shotgun would be stored away. As I looked to where she was pointing, however, I was struck with an inexplicable relief. There stood the same tall, dark figure that I had seen earlier; it was stooping over to two smaller ones, both of whom looked very similar to the taller one.

"Is it…a family?" I asked tenaciously, still watching the figures closely. The taller one handed a velvety rose to one of the little ones, who accepted it gleefully and began to play with the petals eagerly.

"It looks like they're all together…how sweet," Celine said sweetly, smiling at them. The taller one noticed me standing there, staring at it, and to the surprise of both of us immediately was standing at the close edge of the pond. It had teleported, or ran _extremely fast_; teleportation seemed very unlikely, but there was almost no other explanation for it.

"I—"

"Can I give you any help?"

Its voice was thick and scratchy, like crunching leaves or a snake's skin, but it was offering to help me with the tree. Celine was as dumbstruck as I was; however, the thing seemed to read my mind.

"I can help you—it would be a lot of work otherwise," the figure spoke as the two children teleported over behind him. They shrunk behind the father figure, apparently frightened of us.

"Just sit to the side," the tall one ordered, and the two kids stepped aside, watching Celine curiously as she studied them.

"Are you—"

"A ghost? I am not," the figure said with a touch of sadness to its voice. "A ghost is at least of this realm. I am from another dimension…call me what you'd like."

A being from another dimension? _What_?

"Another…dimension? Like…another universe?"

"Not quite," it answered as it effortlessly separated part of the tree trunk from its body, setting the rounded log aside. "We are in the same universe, just in different, separate parts of it. You exist in one part, and I exist in another…of course, I have crossed over temporarily—"

"But how? If we are separate dimensions…then how did you get over here?"

This question seemed to puzzle the figure greatly, as it set another log aside. It stood there for a moment, its deep, lifeless purple eyes pondering.

"It…just happened one day. There was a rip in the fabric of quantum matter, and…your universe was simply open. I was one of those who decided to just cross over, out of plain curiosity."

"Just…out of curiosity?"

"We share that same trait, you and I. Simple curiosity…a desire to know the unknown. That is one of the few traits our peoples share."

Finally, the tree was in separate logs, each one stacked up neatly in a little pile by the pond.

"Your people—"

"Call us Endermen, if you will please," the figure said.

"Right…Endermen…do you Endermen go back over to your…er…dimension?" I asked, sitting down beside Celine, who was listening intently to us. The children were standing by their father, still cautious of us.

"We can go back willingly…if we wish…"

Again, he sounded sad, and he looked off in the distance, as if expecting to see something there. After a few seconds, he shivered a bit, and then returned to me.

"I must be going. It is dangerous here…you humans kill foreigners just as readily as you kill yourselves. Good journeys to you two, wherever you go."

The Enderman spoke in some quiet, slow clicks to his children, who apparently understood perfectly and followed him as he led them deeper into the park, until they disappeared down a winding trail.

"He seemed very sad," Celine said after we sat there for a few minutes, watching the path. It wasn't even noon yet; we had been there for maybe half an hour, but time seemed to have gone much quicker.

"Maybe he's been away from home for a while. Just…a bit homesick, you know?"

"I don't know…he's still kinda creepy though. Just have to get used to him, I guess," Celine sighed, and closed her eyes as she lay back on the park bench.

We sat for several minutes, as the sunlight began to creep through the clouds and shine on the park. The stack of logs was untouched, sitting beside the pond; the ducks hadn't returned, and the small chunks of bread had become soggy and sank to the bottom of the water. Finally, Celine spoke after a silence that seemed like an eternity.

"Rina saw us yesterday, as we came back."

"Hmm?"

"She saw us…holding hands as we walked. She didn't mention it to you because she was embarrassed, but she told me."

It really wasn't that embarrassing; Rina sounded like someone who could keep a secret, and as far as I knew nobody in the complex besides her knew about our close bond.

"How'd she see us?"

"She was out repairing something, she told me. We were in plain sight, so I guess it's reasonable…but that's not my point," Celine spoke, throwing her blonde hair back over her shoulder and rising up off the bench.

"What is, then?"

"It's just our relationship. There's no denying it, Leon…we have something, even if it's only been a few days. You know we do…right?"

She drew closer to me, enveloped me in her arms. Her face shone in the midday sun, which was growing stronger as it passed through patchy clouds.

"Celine…I…"

"It's just…I don't know how to handle all of this…"

"Handle all of what?"

She drew away from me, blinking rather rapidly as if warding off tears.

"I…it's just all of this…I can't deal with so many emotions at once. It's been this way for the past two weeks now, ever since everything went haywire…"

I was confused, completely confused; I just nodded and hoped that I didn't upset her more. I could tell she was withholding tears.

"I know we can be together, Leon…but it's just hard to balance my emotions when I'm under so much pressure. The fear of being attacked, the fear of the unknown out there…the loneliness too, it's just too much…"

After a few moments, in which I could barely hear her sniffling as she held her hands over her face, she returned to me and wrapped her arms around me again. I did the same, cuddling her close to me; the sun was disappearing now, and it was suddenly getting cooler. The warmth of her body was welcome.

"I'm sorry about that…I just had a little breakdown, that's all…"

Her eyes were red, but she was happier now.

"It's nothing to worry about…" I started, but was cut off.

I was completely taken aback as she leapt up and kissed me right on the lips. It was quick, not long and drawn out, but the effect was complete. I was completely speechless; not sure of what to say, I gazed down at her, and she laughed, throwing her hair back again.

"I know I shouldn't have done that…but it was fun," she smiled, winking at me, and then dug her head into my chest again. Utterly bemused, I decided to hold her there, cuddling her in the dim light until she backed away of her own accord.

"I'm sorry about all that," she said afterwards. Our relationship had completely changed in those few minutes; thankfully, no one else had seen us. I nodded, smiling rather awkwardly, and packed up my gear, taking several of the large logs with me.

"It was no problem…I…"

I wanted to say I felt the same way that she did to me, but it would've sounded awkward coming from me. My sentence just fell flat, and Celine smiled.

"I understand."

We walked in silence for a few minutes, both of us hefting the heavy logs.

"We'll have to keep this a secret. If Ari finds out that we're eloping…he'll have both our hides," she joked. I managed to laugh weakly; knowing Ari, I wouldn't have been surprised if he would have actually flayed us. He didn't seem like the type who understood or accepted sexual relations.

"I wouldn't say a word anyway," I joked. As she laughed, throwing her hair back over her shoulder again, I noticed something in one of the towering apartment complexes I hadn't noticed before; there was a hole in the base of one of them, just large enough for a man to crawl in and out. Curious, I set my stack of logs down and approached it, gazing inside.

"What's the matter?" Celine asked, a good twenty feet ahead of me. I just waved her off.

"Something down here…I'm gonna check it out really quick."

Before she could protest, I slipped into the hole and fell into a dank, dim space. There was just enough mid-day light seeping in from the hole to illuminate the far wall and the four assault rifles stacked up against it. I could tell the specifics of each rifle from where I stood; each one had an ACOG scope on it, beautiful optics, and a silencer attached to the barrel's end. They were beautiful, polished and seemingly unused, even scratch-free.

"Everything alright down there?"

Celine poked her head down by the hole as I began to bring the rifles back up. One by one, I gently pushed the weapons through the gap and laid them out on the pavement, until all four had been rescued along with a hundred rounds for each.

"They're just…beautiful."

It was an additional weight, but I decided to carry half of it all, and Celine begrudgingly carried the rest. We walked on home, our arms loaded with goods, side by side down the ruined street.

Once again, my thoughts returned to that industrial complex, and a plan began to formulate in my head.


	7. Formulation

Ari was relieved that we were back so early, and in one piece at least. Celine and I had trudged back down the row of apartments to our stronghold, hefting piles of wood as we went. They were to be used for charcoal; as regular coal was in short supply, and kerosene was nowhere to be found, charcoal from trees would have to make do.

"That should be enough for a few days…brilliant," Ari remarked happily as we brought them up the makeshift elevator and deposited the logs in the small ninth-floor workshop.

"All this from only one tree. There must be dozens of trees in that park," Celine grunted as she struggled to heft a particularly large pile of brown, barky wood onto a table. It was in the workshop where it would be "synthesized" into charcoal by our station's best repairman, Aeric.

Aeric was a heavyset blond man who usually kept to himself, according to Celine. We watched him as he began to toss the wood into a furnace, heaving whole logs into the devouring maw of the controlled flames.

"He doesn't speak much, but his words carry quite a bit of weight," Celine mused as we watched him for a moment. As she stepped out of the room, muttering something about needing a good lunch, I decided it was time to speak to Ari about my plan again. Perhaps, having done him a great service, I could convince him to think otherwise about it.

As he began to step out of the workshop, scratching his head as he left, I caught up with him and tapped him gently on the shoulder.

"Eh…oh, Leon. Hello…can I help you?"

He seemed slightly irritated, but I ignored his reaction and decided to bring up the subject again.

"Ah…yes…it's about the industrial park, sir…"

Ari's face twisted visibly; I had expected a much more vocal reaction, but instead he lowered his voice to a whisper, irritated and pained.

"Why are you so intent on this…this pipe dream of yours? I told you all the obstacles in the way of scavenging that place, and I told you my stance on it…why are you so intent on going into there?"

Ari wasn't upset with me, but he was certainly frustrated that the subject had been brought up so many times.

"I've just—"

"I know that there's vital equipment in there—food, medicine, supplies of all sorts—but the risks outweigh the benefits, Leon. I want you to see that."

He took a deep breath, and noticed that I was still trying to convince him to follow my idea.

"Leon…see it from my perspective. I have to take care of all these people—your concern is you, just you. My concern is everyone—" he swept his arm around the room to accommodate every soul in the building— "and if I were to send some of these people out on a suicide mission, then I would never forgive myself for their deaths. They're my responsibility—and thus, I cannot do something like this to them. Never."

He closed his eyes, and before leaving, tapped me on the shoulder in a gentle, fatherly manner.

"I appreciate your concern for the community, Leon. You are a one-of-a-kind, a selfless person…but this conversation is over. I look forward to speaking of other topics later."

And with that, my plans were almost completely dashed. He had shown resilience before, but this…he was standing his ground here. There would be no persuading him to change his mind, no persuading him to attack that cistern or try to enter that complex. As I started to leave for the top floor, someone snickered behind me.

"Ah…that old goat's as stubborn as a rock, ain't he?"

The voice was heavy, almost Nordic, and I realized that it was Aeric, the craftsman, who was leaning on the doorframe casually.

"Did…you hear all of that?" I asked him, making eye contact. He smiled earnestly, throwing his hands in the air.

"Guilty as charged. The door was open, and my ears…they just happen to catch some things," he said with a laugh. "But you know…your idea isn't half bad. And it's nothing novel in this place, either. You might wanna talk to Marcus about it, he's in favor of taking some heads off just to kill some time. Just keep out of earshot, alright?" he said, pointing to the stairs, where Ari's footsteps were fading away.

"I'm guessing he's at the alcohol cabinet?"

"Hah…probably," Aeric responded with a sharp laugh. "You know him just as well as we do, and you've been here only two days. Yeah, see what he has to say…the worst he can say is no," Aeric chided me on, and then closed his door before I could respond.

Before I knew it, I had found Marcus in his common room and had managed to shepherd him to a secluded area where I could speak with him in private. He had brought down a bottle of whiskey to keep him company.

"So…what the hell's this all about then, huh?" he asked drawlingly, taking a long swig from his bottle as he watched me intently. Though he may seem drunk and unruly, there was a focus in his eyes that disturbed me; he seemed so focused on his target, which happened to be me at that point, that it was frightening to look him straight in the eye.

"Well…I needed to talk to you about something, something important—"

"Well spit it out, then. Listening to you meander will only make my headache worse—"

"It's about the cistern."

He knew what I was talking about; his eyes narrowed immediately, and he set the bottle down, looking suspicious.

"Yeah…that bandit camp's all set up within the Uptown Cistern. What about that place?"

It seemed like he knew where I was going with this, but he wanted to bait me into saying it myself. I decided to start out with today's events.

"When I was out today with Celine scavenging fire—"

"Skip the boring shit," he barked, taking another swig.

"—well, I found four silenced assault rifles. Just sitting there in prime condition, in someone's basement."

This seemed to catch Marcus' attention. Instead of baiting me into revealing my idea, he went straight for the heart.

"So you want to take out this cistern camp, do you?" he asked.

"Well, yes…it's about scavenging the industrial complex, there might be plenty of useful stuff in there."

He took another drink, finishing the bottle, then tossed it into a small trash bin.

"I don't give a damn about what's in that industrial park, it's none of my concern what the medics and techs get. But this stealth operation you're brewing up sounds promising to me. I suppose Ari is still opposed to this?"

He sounded more hopeful now, as if my plan actually had merit to it. I was getting more delighted by the second at his willingness to aid me. I nodded.

"Yeah, he's too precautionary…not a bad leader, mind you, but this camp's like a festering sore. It's a problem, and one that needs to be dealt with quickly. I wouldn't dare to approach Ari about it—"

"So what would you suggest?" I asked him, trying to keep my tone neutral and friendly. He seemed momentarily taken aback.

"Er…me? Well…I would be all in favor of attacking the place, just straight up hitting it, but…the silenced weapons do make a stealth operation seem a lot more favorable."

He seemed to be contemplating the best options; I was glad that he was interested and acting more polite to me, even though he was half drunk. He threw up his hands, then proceeded to leave.

"Let me sleep on it. I'll let you know by tomorrow my stance on it."

As he left the room, I nodded silently.

"Don't tell Ari a thing. Don't even let him hear a word about it," Marcus warned before he left the room completely.

I knew I had to keep this a secret; we were planning something together, and although being so secretive went against my fiber, I knew it had to be done.

I decided to wait until tomorrow, and not to pester Marcus about it until he was ready.


	8. The Exile

**A/N: I have…an announcement! (Epic music plays…) I would like to ask any readers who have good character ideas to submit character designs in the reviews/comments. Not required of course, but definitely welcome. Here are the guidelines for creation. Give me the following:**

**Name:**

**Age:**

**Physical Qualities (skin color, hair color, height, girth):**

**Personality (accents, social abilities, etc.):**

**Short Biography (just a simple sketch):**

**Weapon of Choice:**

**Also, a few rules:**

**No explicit names. Also, names should be regular. If it resembles an internet profile name in any way, it is unacceptable.**

**No profanity or overly explicit subjects. A background of alcoholism or prostitution is acceptable, but no extreme or explicit details.**

**Keep it realistic. No superheroes, mutants or the like. These are regular people just trying to survive.**

**Other than that, enjoy creation! I will take two or three of the best characters and add them. If your character isn't added, don't be angry or upset; there will be another chance in the future to get a character added. So, enjoy this chapter, and I will have the new characters by next chapter!**

xXXXXXXXXXXXx

Marcus wasn't going to talk until the next day; I figured it would be hopeless to try to convince him otherwise, and decided to spend my free time in the park, just being alone. It was good to have time to myself, even though the past two weeks had been very lonely for me, trudging from city to city amidst the civil disorder that wracked the nation.

I decided to head out to the park downtown, where I would hopefully be able to catch a quiet moment alone. It was tranquil, one of those days when the wind barely stirred and the world seemed to stop. The sunlight was filtering in through cracks in the clouds, though I could tell that it was growing darker; the wildfires were consuming more, and ash was beginning to thicken in the stratosphere. I was sure that more problems were in the forecast, but that wasn't my concern right now. I sat down on the same bench by the same pond, under the same oak tree that would soon be fallen by my axe for charcoal and firewood.

As I sat on the bench, I knew I was not alone. I had come unarmed; I realized now that it had been a stupid decision, born of blind ignorance of the deadly world around me. IF they were looters, then I was a dead man; they would spare no mercy for the one who had personally killed two of their men and had been an accomplice to another killer of their rank and file. I waited for the gunshots, but none came. It was silent, but I knew that I was not alone. It was one of those primeval gut feelings that one gets, kind of like a sixth sense.

I turned over and saw the Enderman standing beside the mighty oak, not even leaning against it. He was just standing, watching the tranquil waters of the pond as if in deep meditation. I watched him for a little while, and even though he looked completely introverted at the time, I sensed that he was aware of my presence. We sat in silence for five minutes, each of us contemplating something different.

"You are not like the others."

Its voice was harsh and raspy, like the crackling of dry autumn leaves, but it did not sound evil or menacing at all. I could sense a benign tone underneath that raspy surface.

"You…are not hostile to me. I am a foreigner, and I have been here for at least a month now. Your race…is xenophobic, to say the least," the Enderman spoke.

"That's nothing new," I commented dryly. "Humans are hostile to everything new; they fear the unknown."

"My ancestors have told me that. Knowledge of your race has been passed down through the generations, while none of us have dared to part the veil lest we bring destruction down upon our home."

"The veil?" I asked curiously. The Enderman was now focusing on me, diverting his full attention to our conversation.

"The division between your dimension and mine. It is something that exists, but at the same time it does not. Think of it as a great divider that can be crossed at any time, under the right circumstances," he spoke. I then noticed his children behind him; they had been hiding initially, but were now peeking out from behind the oak tree curiously.

"The veil…how is it—"

"I do not know how to. It has been opened before, but only by the greatest of our race. They alone possess the knowledge of how to open it."

The Enderman was looking rather pained again; he had that expression on his face I had seen earlier, when I mentioned his dimension.

"Then…how did you get here?"

I knew I shouldn't have asked that question, deep inside. The Enderman's face contorted into a mix of rage and pain, and he jerked momentarily before inhaling deeply.

"I was…exiled, you could say."

"Exiled?"

"Yes. I committed something terrible…it was something I should never have done, something that separated me from my partner forever. I cannot return…"

I wasn't going to ask what he did, but he continued anyway before I could interject.

"Do you know our biology, human? How Ender families work and cooperate together?"

It was a rhetorical question; of course I didn't know the answer. This was only the third time I had met this creature, and the first two encounters had done little to clear the mist surrounding his origin.

"Endermen have no name, and few distinguishing features; rather, we know each other by bonds deep within us. I know my children by the bond I share with them. If I had no bond established with them, I would not know that they are _my_ children."

He put heavy emphasis on the word _my_.

"I…remember why I did it. I had a child, female. My wife and I were pleased that we had a child, but she had wanted a boy who would grow up to defend our clan honor and support our village as all the other males did. She wouldn't get over it; as the months passed by, she fell into a deep depression. She had wanted a boy so badly; she was neglecting our baby daughter, and it hurt me to see the child sitting in its resting-bed alone, without contact, without a mother to take care of it."

"So…"

"So I did something that I can never forgive myself for. I took a child from another family…it was their firstborn son, the pride of the family. I severed the bonds that he shared with his mother and father, and created ones that bound him to my family. He was mine, and his mother forgot all about him as I secretly severed those bonds. When I brought him home, my wife was horrified; I was in such a state of dementia, so delirious that I thought she would be delighted to see a baby boy."

The Enderman took in another deep breath, obviously finding it difficult to retell his tale. I was listening intently, making sure not to upset him anymore.

"I was shunned by everyone else. The authorities were disgusted, the family of the child I had taken was horrified. The bonds could not be recreated once they were severed, and they would never have their child back again. As I was cast out, I smuggled both children with me, even the illegitimate son. I left her…I left her in such a state of grief…she could not bring death to her, and she now lives with the pain…every…damn…day…"

The Enderman was gritting his teeth in agony, clenching his mighty fists in anger and hatred. His children were still watching me; I could tell the difference between male and female, legitimate and illegitimate.

"The boy does not know that I am not his true father. His bonds to his family were severed, and now he is with me. I have pledged to take care of them here, in this harsh world that your race has destroyed. I just pray every day that I can keep out of the way of those of your species who worship violence."

The story was terrible; I hardly understood how his people worked, but I knew that he had committed a horrible crime.

"I…I'm sorry—"

"You should not be sorry. I did something terrible, and I am paying the price. I cannot go back, ever…there is no way to part the veil, and even if I did I would be cast out from my village. They could never accept me again…this is my home now."

It was a heart wrenching tale, and I tried not to feel any pity for him. He was a criminal, after all; but it sounded like the worst tragedy that could befall a man, and I still managed to pity him even if he did something terrible. As we sat there for a few moments, in our various states of emotion, another helicopter flew overhead. It was about three-hundred feet in the air, blades chopping through the grimy air as it banked east, towards the suburbs.

"The human capacity for hatred and violence amazes me. Even someone like me…I sincerely hope that you stay safe wherever your journeys will take you. Good luck, Leon Walker."

I was looking at the helicopter as he said this; I turned to ask him how he knew my name, when he was just suddenly gone. He had vanished, as if into thin air.

No, teleported.

I forgot that he could teleport, and that his children could as well. They were gone now, gone to who knows where. I just hoped that I could see him again; he seemed like a good-hearted person, even if he had committed a wicked deed.

The helicopter vanished into the distance, beyond the ruined hulks of apartment buildings and strip malls. The sky was beginning to darken; night was coming on, and the massive clouds of ash did nothing to help. I decided it was time to head back to the stronghold.

I was eagerly awaiting Marcus' answer; tomorrow would be the crucial day, deciding whether or not my plan was carried out.


	9. Newcomers

**A/N: A big thanks to all the people who created a character—you guys know who you are! Specifically, users Zach of Death, Party Tortuga and Senturian all created their own characters. Thanks for your input, and I hope to update regularly after this!**

The next day brought new events, after the previous day in the park. There were no more helicopters, at least then; there were hushed whispers in the stronghold, groups of two or three quietly discussing the passing of the choppers while keeping out of earshot of Ari, who was naturally suspicious of them.

"I don't trust them at all. If they're government, they're here for something besides survivors. Otherwise they would have already found us," Ari grumbled at breakfast when Celine posed the question casually. She decided it would be smart not to discuss it anymore, as Ari's face darkened at the very mention of the subject.

And so the rest of the day passed without event until the afternoon, when the distant grumbling of engines carried through the still, ashen air.

The lead skies were blocking out most of the sunlight; afternoon was turned to dusk, as only small rays of pure sunlight were able to slash through the thick gray slab hovering overhead. Being on sentry duty on the rooftop with Marcus, I was the one who first heard it. Marcus passed it off, saying it was just me, but after a few moments he began to hear it clearly as well. We had lit a fire up on top to keep warm; it was one of those chilly days, when the cold wind from the north blows down and takes advantage of the lack of sunlight. We were forced to put on winter clothing and start a roaring fire in a barrel full of rubbish, mostly newspaper and kindling from the park.

"Do you hear that? Is it…engines?" I asked Marcus offhandedly, shouldering my hunting rifle nervously. Marcus, his massive military-grade sniper rifle sitting idly against several stacked concrete blocks, shrugged.

"Yeah, I hear it…and if I was you, I'd just ignore it," he said. As always, he had a full bottle of gin in hand, taking occasional drinks from it.

"Don't drink too much," I warned him, probably the thousandth time someone had told him that. He just shrugged it off as usual.

"Screw you. I'll drink as much as I want…besides, it keeps me warm," he argued.

The noise was growing louder; it was definitely audible, and not subtle, not in the least bit. My curiosity was piqued but my sense of danger was heightened; whoever it was, they had vehicles, and most likely weapons.

"Do you think we should put out the fire?" I asked Marcus. He smiled deviously at me.

"I think it's already too late," he sneered. As I looked down from the rooftop, I saw three trucks round the corner of the apartment block opposite ours. They were all junkers, old rusty, worn pickup trucks with satchels and backpacks filling their bays. Even from ten stories up, I could pick out the massive .50 caliber machine guns anchored to the beds of the trucks.

"They saw that smoke I'm sure," Marcus spat, raising himself up to get a better look. He stumbled over to the edge and gazed down at the three vehicles, now parked at awkward angles to the sidewalk adjacent to our building.

"I should've put it out," I said regrettably, wincing as what looked like heavily armed men piled out of the trucks.

"Yeah. Well you fucked up this time, didn't you?" he cracked, just as the hatch to the roof opened and Ari, looking rather irritated, popped up.

"We've got company. I can't tell if they're hostile or passerby…I suppose if they were hostile, they'd have already fired. Either way, I need you two. Come with me," he barked. Ari had a certain commanding personality to him that even Marcus respected; both of us hurried down after him, leaving our sniper rifles behind and opting to take only small handguns.

It seemed like a long descent down to the bottom floor. I passed Celine and Derek on the way down, both engaged in a quiet conversation; Celine looked troubled, and Derek looked nervous. I began to tense up as we hit the ground floor and exited the heavy steel doors in the lobby. The massive blocks of steel were added on by Rina, and they served as the barrier between the cold outside world and the warm sanctuary of our stronghold. Now, we were standing out on the sidewalk, just the three of us, facing five men armed to the teeth.

"State your business, please," Ari spoke first, calmly. His voice was rigid, but he spoke with a neutral tone, one that would hopefully placate and subdue these thugs. Or, at least they looked like thugs.

"Well…I will. But I think we're lacking proper…introductions here. Don't you think?"

He was of average height and build, about 5'6", wearing a black pinstripe suit and sharp dress pants. In one pocket was a packet of cigarettes, unopened; in the other was a small, two-inch throwing knife, its blade gleaming in the dying sunlight. A massive 12 gauge shotgun was strapped to his back, complete with an eight-inch bayonet and military-grade optics; he looked like a killer for hire.

"State. Your business," Ari snapped, locking eyes with the newcomer, who had an equally intense stare. The mysterious man smiled, took a cigarette from his pocket, drew a lighter and lit up, letting the smoke waft into the still air.

"The name's Paul Marino. I'm the leader of this…posse. Coalition, alliance, whatever you wish to call it."

"You look like a bunch of thugs to me," Ari spoke, tapping the butt of his handgun gently. It remained holstered to his side.

"Thugs…I never get tired of that word," Paul laughed, shaking the cigarette gently to knock off some ashes. "You know I remember the last people who called us thugs. Remember them well. My father always used to have a saying, back when I was a kid…the thing you remember most about a man is how he screams when he's on the brink of death."

Paul grinned manically, before tossing the cigarette to the ground and stepping on it.

"Now…where are your manners? I have introduced myself, but…you have not. Please…I'm dying to know your name," Paul crooned, extending his arms in a mockery of a show of friendship.

"The name's Ari Kulovka. I am the leader of this…_community_," Ari spoke, putting emphasis on the last word.

"Ari…Kulovka. What a pleasant name. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Ari. Now…let me introduce my other crew, if you please?"

Paul swung his arm around to the other four men standing around him.

"There's Conor…he was in the illegal potion trade, a brilliant potioneer and quite a good fighter, I must say…"

The young man was wearing black jeans and army-issue boots, coupled with a white hoodie with several tears in the sleeves. He was the spitting image of a stereotypical gangster, except for his eyes, which betrayed some sort of deep longing or sadness that I could simply not place.

"I have Miguel…he was a farmer, not my type of man, but he's good with handling animals and fresh produce, and he makes a good shot in a pinch…"

A tall, lean Hispanic man was standing up against the truck, a Desert Eagle holstered by his side. He had to be at least forty, with graying hair and jutting features that juxtaposed with his young eyes and smooth, tan skin.

"We have Tomas; he was in the potions trade with Miguel before cutting out, he's good with that big-ass sledgehammer of his…"

A lean, slender Hispanic man with a sledgehammer sat in the bed of one of the trucks, leering out at us from beneath a tight black ski mask.

"And then there's this guy. He hasn't named himself, he goes around in this cold suit all the time…but he's a king of the pickaxe, and, well…he just seems to know things."

Paul motioned to a man in a full-body cold conditions suit, with a diamond pickaxe swung over his shoulder. I couldn't see past those goggles he wore; but there was something about him, something you could sense, power behind those mysterious goggles.

"Well, that's us. Our little group of…hmm…thugs," Paul finished.

He spooked me; he gave the image of an unpredictable psychopath, and his eyes betrayed a kind of insane, calculating fire that at the same time drew respect as well as fear.

"What is it that you want?" Ari asked, his voice cautious. He seemed very cautious; he was eyeing every single one of these people, watching them suspiciously.

"Well…you seem to have a good thing going here—"

"Do you wish to seek sanctuary with my community?" Ari asked.

"Well—"

"No. I will not allow it," Ari said firmly.

Paul did not argue. Instead, he leaned against the side of the truck, fingering the trigger of his shotgun casually.

"Would you even consider it?" Paul asked; behind him, his men were becoming restless. The light was fading as afternoon turned to evening, and nighttime was a bad time to be out on the streets.

"I know that I don't seem very trustworthy."

Paul was now being very honest; he had lost the attitude and was speaking to Ari, man-to-man.

"I know how you must feel…but you must consider it. We've been out on the road for days, at least a week and a half, fending off looters and ferals every evening. It would be nice to be secure for one night."

Ari looked like he was considering it. He turned back to us, his eyes speaking for himself. We glanced at each other for a few moments, each of us giving our say without speaking a word. Finally, Ari turned back to the group, which was waiting for his word.

"For the night, yes. We will talk more about this in the morning, Marino."

Ari had spoken; he didn't seem very happy about the decision, but Paul was pleased.

"At least we have a roof to sleep under tonight…hell, maybe even a hot meal!" he spoke to his crew, who laughed and joked amongst one another. Ari threw open the heavy steel doors, admitting them into the lobby.

"Don't get too comfortable," he warned Paul, who seemed to barely hear. He was saying something about posting sentries to keep watch over the trucks. As the newcomers jabbered and joked, I slogged back up the stairs, wincing as their voices disappeared.

I knew this wasn't over. In fact, it was far from over.

Before I could reach the first floor of our stronghold, Marcus, who was behind me, tapped my shoulder.

"Your plan?" he whispered, making sure that Ari was far enough behind so that he could not hear us. I nodded silently, waiting for his answer. Even in the darkness of the unlit stairwell, I could see how focused he was, how dead serious he was about this.

"Let's do it. Tomorrow night."


	10. The Petting Zoo

The next morning, tensions ran high amongst the group as there was an argument over the new arrivals. In the main kitchen area, I sat in one of the corners, watching Celine, Rina, Marcus, Derek, Ari and the scout Tobias argue about the fate of the newcomers.

"They can't be trusted. Plain and simple—I don't like this Paul figure, and his followers all look like thugs to me—"

"But they have a value, don't they? I don't like them any more than you do, Ari, I was there last night and heard everything, but they're well-armed and they seem enthusiastic."

Marcus _had_ made a good point; their weapons were military-grade, much better than most of our arsenal, and they seemed willing to work together. At least, they _seemed _willing.

"Yes, they seem enthusiastic, but what if it's all an act? What if they _do _just want to take what we have, and murder us in our sleep? They might be just as bad as the looters, only worse because they might be dirty liars…"

Each argument had merit; Rina and Celine were siding with Ari, and Derek was siding with Marcus, even though it went against his passive fiber to even consider letting a group like Paul's into our community. The door to the ninth floor had been locked shut last night, and two sentries had been posted to keep an eye on the stairwell. They had reported nothing; it appeared that Paul and his gang had kept to the lobby the previous night. Either they were plotting and simply insinuating themselves into our community before acting, or they _were _trustworthy.

"I don't know…it's a tough choice…"

Ari turned to me, and everyone else slowly followed suit. I had not given any input into the conversation, and I presumed they wanted my say.

"Well Leon?"

All eyes were on me now. My input could sway the decision one way or another. I pondered it for a solid minute; the silence was unbroken, no one pressured me or rushed me. Finally, I made my choice.

"I trust Paul."

Three words changed Ari; he had heard the input of three people in support of Marino, and he had finally made his decision. Celine and Rina knew what he was going to say; they weren't upset, but they weren't content either.

"Alright then. The burden is on me, and if I have messed up…then it is my shame to bear. Leon, let them know my decision."

Ari, looking rather bleak and solemn, ushered me out of the kitchen and down towards the stairwell. I proceeded down all ten flights of stairs, all the way to the lobby. The sentries, haggard and exhausted, opened the door for me, and allowed me to enter the other side.

All five of them were gathered in the reception room, a vast array of supply backpacks and sleeping bags scattered on the linoleum floors. They seemed haggard, as if they had slept little; as I crept down the last few steps, Paul noticed me and, cigarette in hand, turned around.

"Well, well. Look who finally made up their damn minds. So what did you man finally say about us?" Paul asked, eyeing me as he always did. He seemed curious, and at the same time insane, studying every detail of every person and considering them within the blink of an eye. I hated that; it made me uncomfortable, and insecure.

"So? What did he say, huh?" Paul asked again, flicking some ashes nonchalantly off the cigarette. I locked eyes with him, making sure that he knew I was focusing.

"For now."

Paul smiled, leaning against the nearest wall and puffing out smoke, holding his head up high as if victorious.

"That old fart made the right choice. You just wait…you won't regret it," Paul assured me, in what sounded like a mocking tone. I didn't turn back to face him again; I already hated him and what he represented.

xXXXXXXXXXXXXXx

It was decided that the abandoned electronics store on the adjacent boulevard would be retrofitted to accommodate both the new arrivals and their vehicles. Another man, by the name of William, showed up later in the day, exhausted and on the point of collapsing. He was diagnosed with dehydration by Celine, who promptly fixed him up with some of our stock of purified water and a good rest. I made a note to myself to talk to him later that day.

As I was cutting up some of our firewood to prepare for Derek's cooking, Ari called me out just as I heaved the wood into the furnace.

"I need you. Have something I require of you," he said quickly before disappearing back out into the hallway. I stood up, bemused, and followed out into the tenth floor atrium, where our scout Tobias and the new man Miguel stood side-by-side, listening to Ari.

"Now, it's not—ah, there's Leon. Leon, I have a 'mission' of sorts for you…something important that needs to be done."

Tobias didn't seem too happy about what he was being asked to do, so I ventured to ask Ari what he needed.

"It's a scouting mission. There's a petting zoo about a mile south from here, down in the Belvedere neighborhood. We need some chickens."

That was about the damn craziest thing I had been asked to scavenge. Hell, it was the craziest thing I had heard in weeks. Scavenging _chickens_? He couldn't be serious? Apparently Ari was reading my thoughts, and immediately his eyes darkened.

"I'm serious about this, Leon. We could use the eggs indefinitely, and the meat if necessary…and we can grow more if we have a large enough stock. Miguel here knows how to handle and care for them—"

He motioned to Miguel, who was wearing overalls and, strangely, chainmail armor he had found somewhere. His Desert Eagle was strapped to his hip, complemented by a large sledgehammer slung across his brawny left shoulder.

"—and it would be a better investment than simply scavenging dehydrated or canned food from markets. Be back by sundown, please. I don't want any unnecessary risks…Tobias, you'll lead the way. You know the Belvedere well enough, don't you?"

Tobias nodded something to the affirmative, wincing slightly as Miguel inched closer.

"Then godspeed, gentlemen. Be very careful out there."

And so we proceeded out into the city once more. The sky was, no surprise, ashen gray again, although it was getting darker each day. It was very foreboding; even Tobias, who was normally a very distrait person, noticed it.

"It's…darker," he mused absentmindedly, as he led us down rubble-strewn alleys and broken stretches of road. The days were indeed getting darker; it felt like a premonition, as if our recent run of relatively good luck was about to turn against us.

"It's been like that. The fires are spreading, since no one's fighting them," Miguel spoke, his Latino accent heavy but his language fluent and smooth.

"Where are you from?"

"Connaughtsshire, down by the mountains. Lived as a woodsman and farmer most of my life, never gave a thought about anything else. Until all of this…"

Connaughtsshire was farther east; by the mountains where most of the mining operations took place. He, like most others, was heading west, having caught snippets of conversations and rumors about the supposed safe haven across the great ocean.

"I heard the rumors, the hushed voices in the taverns."

Miguel was very quiet now, speaking only to me. Tobias, leading the way, either paid no attention to us or couldn't hear at all.

"As they watched the cities burn and the waves rush in, they spoke of the government's 'Plan B', the massive relocation facilities across the ocean. Cities, railroads, harbors, airports…all built in case of a disaster."

"Do you believe any of it?"

"If I didn't, I wouldn't be here," Miguel replied, scoffing. "It's a faint hope, one that grows fainter every day, but there's still hope. Maybe my family got out…maybe…"

"You had a family?"

"Seven children…two daughters, five sons. Once our family grew so large, I knew that farming wouldn't be enough to put bread on the table. I started working…in the nearby city, for an esteemed bank. It was lousy work, being cooped up behind a teller's booth all day, but it paid the bills and kept my children fed."

As he reminisced, his eyes began to water, and he knew that I noticed.

"I know…they're dead…" he choked, trying to restrain his emotions. "There's no point in dwelling on what's happened. I've cashed my chips in with Paul, and he's proven himself to me. Maybe not to you, or your community, but I trust him with my life."

We almost ran into Tobias, who had stopped in the middle of the road. I tried to tell him off, but he was extending his arm to a large, fenced area with dying trees hiding any signs of buildings within.

"Belvedere Petting Zoo. Let's do this quick," Tobias said, and proceeded to cross the street. The gates were open; in their rush to evacuate, the employees must have forgotten to lock up. We covered one another, weapons drawn; the place was empty, debris and trash scattered all over the public grounds and picnic areas. Animals could be heard somewhere; it hadn't been long ago that they had been fed and watered, or they would have died of thirst by now.

"I can't believe they're actually still alive…"

"It's only been two weeks," Tobias said, picking the lock of a large barn door.

"That's still quite a while. Unless they had large reserves of food and water, they wouldn't have lasted," I pointed out. There was the sound of creaking wood and something cracking, and the barn door burst open, throwing Tobias with its force.

Inside, a pitiful sight presented itself to us. The barn was long, at least eighty feet in length and twenty in width. Stalls lined the dusty concrete pathway that separated the building, and each was full of various animals. Cows, sheep, pigs, and chickens all filled the stalls, their water troughs full and their feeders brimming with corn and barley. What _was _pitiful about the sight was the decomposing corpse lying against one of the stall doors, a dark red stain encircling a small hole in his head. He had, no more than two days ago, committed suicide.

"He couldn't handle it…"

I spoke, trying to find words to fit the situation. Tobias winced, trying to avoid viewing the corpse. Miguel came close, spoke something in a language that I did not understand, and then closed the suicide's eyes for good.

"He deserves a proper rest. He suffered so much for these creatures…"

I said a few words for him, under my breath, as Miguel forced one of the stall doors, where several chickens roamed around inside.

"There's quite a few in here…no roosters, unfortunately, so we've got no future for these hens," he said, picking one of the hens up and stroking its feathers. It seemed rather delighted to be in the hands of a human, and was clucking contentedly and pecking curiously at Miguel's sleeves.

"At least we'll have eggs."

I picked another up, and it was happy to be in my hands. It was cocking its head back and forth curiously, as if studying me.

"We'll have to carry them back in our arms. I suppose we can only take two, then. Or we'll have to make other trips—"

I noticed Tobias was scanning the door, squinting at the frame. Holding the plump hen tight to my chest, I walked over to him.

"There's scratch marks on these doors," he muttered, running his rough hand down along the door. Indeed, there were scratch marks on the outside, as well as on the frame; they looked like the work of sharpened claws, not unlike that of a cat or dog.

"And…blood, a few spots here, and there…"

Tobias always came off as strange and peculiar, but his one shining talent was an analysis skill worthy of an inspector. There were a few small droplets of brownish blood along the edge of the door, as if something had cut itself trying to get in. And there was a paw-print of blood on the ground, leading off behind the barn.

"This is most peculiar…there are feathers over here too…"

Miguel walked out of the barn, carrying yet another fat hen in his beefy arms.

"We should get going. We might need to come back tomorrow to get supplies and maybe another one of these—"

"Guys, I don't think we're alone here—"

"—and perhaps pick up some milk if we bring bottles—"

A long, mournful howl carried on the wind. My blood froze in my veins, and my spine was chilled almost instantly. Others followed it, copying it in the same pitch and tone, and then more. Tobias' face blanched; he was frozen in place, as Miguel tossed the chickens down on the ground rather roughly.

"Wild dogs, wild dogs…shit..."

They sounded exactly like dogs. It all came together now—the scratch marks on the door, the feathers, and the bloody paw print…wild dogs. The suicide in the barn must've locked himself in with supplies and the remaining animals to protect them from the ferals who were almost certainly bearing down upon us at this moment.

"There must be at least a dozen, maybe more!" Miguel shouted, throwing a nearby picnic table over on its side to serve as some sort of barricade. I could hear more howls, and they were coming closer; I had never encountered ferals before, but I had heard stories of them tearing apart entire gangs of looters, and even eating the corpses…

"Get ready!" Miguel shouted, drawing his treasured Desert Eagle. Tobias had a hunting rifle, which he was aiming over the table. I had picked up an old, worn .22 from the armory back home, and prayed to Notch that it still worked. I had not expected something like this to happen; I was foolish to think that.

Four dogs tumbled through the gate; their eyes were red, or at least looked red in the dying sunlight. Their fur was coarse, filthy and matted, and their teeth dripped brownish saliva. They were feral, the best word to describe them, and they were after warm flesh.

We all fired a salvo, taking down three of the four dogs. The fourth one disappeared as another wave came through. This time, we were less prepared; Tobias and I had to reload, leaving Miguel to fire rather inefficiently into the horde of at least eight dogs. He took three down before they were too close; they were at fifty feet, and closing in fast.

I fired and took one's left eye out; the bullet went straight through flesh and bone and embedded itself somewhere in the dog's decimated brain, tossing him backwards with the sheer force of the blast. The others kept on coming; Tobias dropped one, and Miguel dropped yet another.

"Eat this, you mother—"

There was a sickening crunch of bone, and a heart stopping scream. I whipped around to see the fourth dog, the one who had vanished behind the entrance booth, digging its fangs into Tobias' calf, splashing bright red blood onto my clothes and the pavement. I fired not one, but two shots into its head. The first one disabled it, exposing its cortex, and the second shot killed it, destroying what was left of its feral brain. Tobias fell over, dropping his rifle and grasping his calf as he moaned in agony, clutching the injury. Miguel dropped the last of them as they rushed towards the barricade, their blind rage fueling their berserk rush. In less than a minute, it had finished; what seemed like so long had been a very short time period, about thirty seconds more or less.

"Ah shit man, shit…he's been wounded deep…"

Miguel leaned over Tobias, who was starting to go into shock. His leg was jerking erratically, and the blood was flowing profusely from the massive gouges in his calf. The muscle was exposed in a few places, and his femur had been cracked by the feral.

"He's going into shock…man, I don't know medicine…"

The chickens were completely forgotten, clucking as happily as could be as they wandered around the park, searching for food. Tobias was going to die soon; as Miguel injected a vial of adrenaline into his bloodstream, I picked him up and hefted him over my shoulder.

"That adrenaline will help him with the shock, but we need a tourniquet…"

I set him back down again and prepared a tourniquet from my own sleeve, tearing it with my bear hands and wrapping the linens around the wound.

"A little tighter, little tighter…"

Miguel squeezed as hard as he could, as Tobias began mumbling incoherently and blinking erratically.

"He needs to see Celine…we need to get him back!"

I tried to repeat this to Miguel, tried to make him see it my way, but it was hopeless. We had no medical equipment, no bracers, nothing. I watched the light fade from Tobias' eyes, watched his leg stop jerking as his eyes stopped blinking. He was watching up as he died, his chest heaving slowly as his heart rate slowed down. A massive pool of blood surrounded his leg, mixed with that of the dead dog that was lying like a ragdoll next to his body.

"Goddamnit…goddamnit," Miguel muttered, his voice cracking. Tobias was dead; he had lost too much blood, had taken a blunt force to the head when he hit the concrete, and had simply given up when he had gone into shock. He was gone from this world.

There were other howls, more distant than previous, but all the same threatening to us. There were more of them, answering the distress calls of their brethren. Much more of them.

"We can't leave him here…it's not right…"

Miguel knew it was useless. Hauling the body back to the stronghold would slow us down, and the howls began to get closer, and more numerous. They would eat his corpse for sure; hell, they might even cannibalize their own. They were rabid, feral; we couldn't handle another attack, not just for the sake of giving Tobias a proper burial.

"We need to go…there's not much time—"

"It's not right…he should be buried…"

"Miguel! We need to go!"

I did it without another thought. I grabbed him by the lapels and shook him hard, shaking some sense into him. He blinked several times, obviously confused by the sudden shock he had been confronted with, and then came back.

"Yeah…we need to go…"

We gathered what gear we could, leaving some behind so that it wouldn't bear us down, and left the petting zoo and Tobias behind. The howls were getting closer; those sounds would haunt me for the rest of my life.


	11. The Potioneer

The dogs didn't follow us back. We were able to get away, on account of leaving Tobias and the animals behind. I couldn't shake the thoughts of them being torn apart by the bloodthirsty ferals, as the latter broke down the barn doors and tore into the stalls, devouring every single ounce of flesh within reach.

"I don't know what we're going to tell them…"

Miguel was downcast even more so than me, and Tobias wasn't even part of his group technically.

"Tell Ari?"

"No. Paul and the others…how can I tell them that I got one of your guys killed?"

We were almost a block from the apartment, walking down the deserted street in the dim afternoon sunlight. There was a little wind drifting in from the east, but otherwise the world around us was silent.

"It's not your fault, Miguel. Tobias' death was an accident, that dog got around us—"

"I should've shot it," Miguel snapped, gritting his teeth.

"There's nothing you can do now, Miguel. It's done…I'll report Tobias' death, it was just an accident. Things like this happen."

It couldn't be farther from the truth. _I _felt responsible for Tobias' death. I could've taken that shot, _I _could've killed that dog that sank its teeth into Tobias' flesh. But it was past now; there was no fixing it, and we would have to soldier onward without our brave scout.

We reached the block where the stronghold was at. Paul was standing outside having a smoke, and Conor was standing next to him, keeping a watch. The other new guy, William, was moving one of the trucks into the nearby garage where they were to be stored. One of our sentries was helping him push.

"Well, well…look whose back from the kiddie zoo! Did you get to pet the little doggies?"

Paul was mocking us, but as soon as we stepped into the light of the lobby his eyes widened and his cigarette almost dropped out of his mouth.

"Holy shit…you two are covered in blood…what happened?"

He stepped closer to get a closer look; Conor was trying to see around him, and one of the guys pushing the truck heard the commotion and turned back to catch a glimpse of us.

"Damn…what happened—"

"Tobias is dead," I said straightforwardly, gritting my teeth and trying to keep my voice from cracking. "Dogs…we were attacked by dogs."

For the first time, I saw true shock on Paul's face. He was not mocking or laughing at us anymore; he was clutching at his breast, the look of pain on his face unmistakable.

"Dogs…I can't believe it…how'd they find you?"

"They probably smelled us—"

"Not possible," Paul scoffed, shaking his head. "Their sense of smell…it's all screwed up because of the crap in the atmosphere. They can't smell a sweaty couch potato fifty feet away."

"How do you know?"

I knew it was futile to question Paul, because he provided an answer straightaway.

"Before we came here," he spoke, calming down a bit, "we ran into ferals out on I-750. Couldn't smell us, we just ran into them as they stalked out towards Connaughtsshire. It was an easy firefight since they didn't get the jump on us."

Paul lit another cigarette, and fell back against the wall.

"They must've been there before," I said, remembering the scratches on the door. "And came back…it was just our bad luck."

"He's still dead," Miguel said, his voice beginning to crack. Paul noticed, and immediately got onto him.

"Ah, don't be such a pansy. He's dead…deal with it. You can't change the past."

I clenched my fists, glowering at Paul as he flipped his lighter back into his pocket. He smiled at me mockingly, just as Ari threw open the lobby door and stepped out, followed by Derek and Marcus.

"Leon…you're back…where's Tobias?"

He was obviously out of breath, panting and gripping his knees. He saw Miguel, he saw me, but not Tobias.

"Is he…"

No one spoke. Ari's face tightened, and he gritted his teeth.

"Son of a—"

"Dogs, sir," I spoke, wincing as he slammed his head into the wall. "There were dogs…one of them flanked us and attacked Tobias before we could react."

Ari was silent for a few moments, leaning his head against the wall. Paul seemed to be in sympathy for him, because he spoke to Ari, the first kind words he had spoken since arriving.

"He died a hero, I'm sure. There's nothing we can do about it."

Ari was not crying, but he was obviously upset. He drew away from the wall, still clutching his head, and turned to me.

"You didn't retrieve the body?"

"It would've weighed us down, sir," I spoke, blushing in embarrassment. "We wouldn't have been able to get away."

Ari knew it was true; he also knew that there would be nothing left by tomorrow. He sighed, taking a deep breath, and turned to Paul.

"Thank you for lending us one of your followers. Without him, Leon may be dead as well."

Ari was trying to return the kindness to Paul, but the latter had returned to his usual self and had his same attitude about him.

"Spare me," he spat, tossing the cigarette to the ground. "Miguel, help us with the last truck," he barked, and he and Miguel disappeared around the corner, towards the garage. Ari stared at the corner for a few minutes, as if expecting Paul to return.

"I really hate him. I really do…but I made him a promise."

"You said he could stay for a little while though…not indefinitely?"

"Leon, he's been worth the effort. I may hate his guts, but he's invaluable to our community. He's a good scavenger, he knows a lot about the local area…and his man saved your life today. Even if Tobias died."

I could tell that Ari felt some amount of animosity towards Paul for Tobias' death, but we both knew it was an accident. It had happened; the best we could do was to make sure something like it never happened again.

"We can't go back to that petting zoo again, if this is the case," Ari spoke, talking to me. He seemed to ignore Conor, who was still standing against the wall, gazing up at the thick sky.

"The dogs?"

"Well, yes. But it's just too dangerous. We don't know what else is out there, and there will be more dogs for sure…I just can't take another risk like that. Not with Tobias dead."

Ari bowed his head for a moment, before looking me in the eye and smiling.

"You did well, Leon. Thank you for staying with us."

Ari stepped inside of the building, leaving only Conor and I outside.

We stood there for a few minutes, listening to the sounds of electrical tools and engines from the apartment next door. We were both gazing up at the sky, trying to see any stars shine through the thick layer of clouds. There were none; the nights were darker than ever, and the only light came from the fluorescent lights inside the lobby.

"I'm sorry about your man."

Conor was soft-spoken, and I could barely hear him.

"Excuse me?"

"Tobias…your, er, scout," he stuttered momentarily. He turned to me, and I could see him smile in the dim light of the interior.

"Ah…thanks for your sympathy. Like Paul said…we can't do anything about it now."

Conor laughed, inching closer to me so that I could hear him.

"You've got some nice babes in your community. We've been practicing forced celibacy ever since Paul got us together."

Conor laughed at his own joke, but I did not find it funny. I managed a smile as he turned to me.

"Forced—"

"There aren't any women between Coastal City and whatever the hell lies out west. Yeah, I've heard about that pie in the sky."

Conor snorted, slapping his hands idly against the masonry.

"Do you believe it?" I asked him.

"That bullshit? I don't believe any of it, not a bit. We're only heading west because there's a frickin' wall of flame back east. Well, we were heading west."

"Why did you stop here, then?"

"Paul seemed to think it was a good idea. I wasn't so sure…but you guys have it good here. I don't think you realize that."

My eyebrows raised, and he noticed.

"Well…you're better off than most folks. Quite a few of them are low on supplies, trapped by looters, whatever. You guys seem to have everything you need. Yeah…there's still problems, but it's manageable."

We stood for a moment before he spoke again.

"You know Celine?"

"Yeah…what about her?"

My eyes leveled as he mentioned Celine.

"Well…I'm just..."

"I can tell what you're getting at," I spoke, trying to keep a neutral stance here. I did not want to become hostile to Conor.

"Yeah, what's the point though…I'm not too good at girls, never have been. Socially…er…awkward."

I felt a little pity for Conor, even though he seemed to be attempting to make a move on my "girlfriend". Our relationship was, at this point, complicated.

"She's got the body and I assume the personality…but oh well. I've got no chance at her."

Conor seemed to have resigned, which lightened my spirits at bit. After another minute of cold silence, I spoke again.

"Where are you from?"

I had asked that question of many people since the "apocalypse", and Conor answered it like most.

"Scottsboro. I lived in the trainyard area, the poor zone…not much of a life, flipping burgers at a local joint that was robbed almost on a weekly basis…but it was better than nothing, I guess."

Conor did not smoke or drink, but he drank potions occasionally. He had managed to mix a soothing, sweet potion out of sugar, a few chunks of masonry, ash and butter that tasted like heaven and produced a rather noticeable calming effect on the drinker. He was taking a swig from a small bottle now, taking it from his pocket and drinking slowly.

"You mind?" I asked him. I needed something to calm my nerves, which were still on edge after today's events.

"Not a problem. It's an easy recipe, not complex like fire resistance or regeneration…or hypnostasis."

The mere mention of the word sent a shock that rippled through my entire body. I almost spit out my potion.

"You've mixed…hypnostasis?" I asked, choking a bit on the sweet liquid.

"No, no…way too complicated," Conor spoke, shaking his head vigorously. "I knew someone who did though…made some of the most powerful ones I've ever seen. I was in the illegal potions business back in Scottsboro."

He had mentioned something about it before, or Paul had, but I'd never heard about it in detail.

"Got ingredients from everywhere…the Nether adventurers, Coastal City, Connaughtsshire…we mixed 'em, shipped em off west to the big metros, and swam in the dough. Once I got into that partnership…hell man, no more flipping burgers for me!" he said, swinging his vial of potion around wildly. He was obviously reliving happy memories.

"This guy…well, he kind of drove me out of the potioneering business. He had taught me how to make some, but he never showed me the draught of hypnostasis. Anyway, he mixed up something really powerful some night. Fed it to some homeless bum on the streets, and that dude snapped right away…"

I had heard rumors of hypnostasis before…it was like a mind-control potion, seized your senses and overcame your motor skills, made you a living zombie under the command of the potioneer.

"Well, we had our rivals…mostly on the far southern side of Scottsboro, down at the steelyards…and anyway, this homeless bum took up an assault rifle, stumbled down to the HQ of one of our rival gangs, and shot up the entire place. Twenty-five men turned into a bloody pulp. All under the control of my teacher. And this bum, the one who drank the potion…he had forty-six bullet holes in his body, and by the time police came to the scene, he was still moving, delivering the finishing shots to some of the gangsters. That drove me out of the potions trade…that kind of shit, it's just beyond creepy…"

I noticed Conor shiver visibly, and he took another drink of potion.

"Eh, well, it's getting late. I'll be up early in the morning…thanks for the chat!" he said rather airily, handing me the rest of the potion.

"You can have it. I'll just whip up some more tomorrow," he called back before disappearing into the lobby. Exhausted and simply beat from the battle earlier and the long trudge back, I drained the rest of the potion and went inside too, eager to get a good night's sleep.


	12. The Four

**A/N: Hi loyal readers! I know I don't do author's notes much, but this time I'd like to thank everyone who's been reviewing and reading for their criticisms and compliments, which have all been very helpful. Also, hooray for the Gathering Storm, which hit 10,000 views! I just wanted to mention that—thanks to everyone who read that, and any and all PMs or reviews for any of my stories are welcome!**

When I woke up the next morning, I knew that something was wrong. The harsh, guttural coughing was somewhat silenced by the heavy door that opened up into the tenth-floor main hallway, but it was still very audible. It was about eight in the morning, the time I usually woke up now that I was safe; before I had joined this community, I had always been up before the crack of dawn.

I threw on some old clothes hastily, desperate to find out where the noise was coming from. The halls were empty; I stumbled out the door, my shirt still unbuttoned, and followed the coughing sounds to the infirmary.

One of the sentries of our group, whose name I did not know, lay rigid on a cot in the middle of the room, his shirt unbuttoned and thrown open. The new man, William, was holding a stethoscope up to his chest, listening carefully to heartbeat and various other sounds. Several people, including Ari, were gathered around him.

"His breathing's forced…it's not natural," William spoke, his voice deep and mellifluous. I had no idea he had any medical skill; where was Celine at a time like this?

"Where is—"

"She's out scavenging. We need her here…but Mr. Itliano will have to do until she returns."

Ari said nothing more, his focus all on the patient and his examiner. The sentry's eyes were closed, and it was obvious that every breath brought pain to him.

"He has a fever as well…relatively high temperature…"

William was now checking his forehead with his bare hand, and withdrew after a few seconds.

"Well…the fever and the coughs are a sure sign."

"What does he have?" Ari asked, concerned.

"It's . His lungs are stuffed full of silica dust and ash…his respiratory tract may be infected and swollen as well…"

He closely examined the sentry's throat and upper chest, gently pressing down in several areas.

"I…can't tell how swollen his upper respiratory tract is, or exactly how much dust he's inhaled. But it's definitely not just him…"

The words were chilling. I had been having minor breathing problems lately as well, especially at night; although they hadn't left me bedridden, they were certainly a cause for concern.

"Do you mean to say…"

Ari knew what the problem was.

"The amount of ash in the air is increasing, and it's becoming noticeable…Mr. Costellato's medical records do mention several respiratory problems early in life though. So it's not a cause for great concern…yet…"

William trailed off as several people left, including Derek and one of the other sentries I recognized, Clara. It was just Ari, Conor and I, along with William and his agonized patient, who had fallen into a semiconscious state.

"If we do not get proper medical equipment for him, he won't last the week," William said quietly, removing the medical gear and replacing it on a nearby examination table. "He's already in a bad state, and the ash is just getting thicker. Soon, it will be affecting most, if not all of us."

The news was grim, but it was not a fatal blow to us.

"It will be quite a while, at least a few weeks, before everyone will be affected. And those are just my rough predictions—but our time _is _limited. We need supplies…"

As William trailed off again, Ari's face darkened.

"What kind of supplies?"

"I'll need breathing units, oxygen tanks, pumps, IV…"

"There's almost no chance we can get all of that," Ari spoke, his voice low. Conor had walked out now, leaving us along in the room. "Almost all of the hospitals are either barricaded or looted, and there's almost no way our scouts can haul that equipment back…it would be damn near impossible…"

William shook his head, obviously discouraged by Ari's pessimistic view.

"It's possible. I've heard that the Midland Children's Hospital wasn't barricaded, or even locked during the evacuation—"

"That's directly above the mid-city cistern!"

The words meant little to William, who shook his head again in apparent confusion.

"I'm sorry?"

"The cistern is held by raiders—it's one of their main camps, we've known that since establishing our community here. I'm almost positive that they've garrisoned the hospital as well; it would be foolish not to," Ari spoke, pacing the room and rubbing his chin as if thinking. He turned back to William, who bowed his head.

"I do not mean to put pressure on you, but time is running out," he spoke in the same calm, deep voice. "If your people cannot find this equipment, then Mr. Costellato's days are numbered."

He turned back briefly to the middle-aged man lying awkwardly on the cot, deep in sleep.

"I can do no more right now. Remember that time is against us."

William bowed his head to both of us and then left the room without another word. Ari, taking several deep breaths, turned to me.

"I know that you've been plotting behind my back, Leon."

I was taken aback, but said nothing. I figured sooner or later Ari would figure it out.

"It upsets me, yes…but there will be time for discipline later. Right now, I want you to carry this out."

I was taken even more aback; I stuttered several times, mangling my first words before I was finally able to speak.

"You…you want me to do it?"

"There's too much at stake here now…you heard what Mr. Itliano said. The ash is thickening, the sky is darkening, and time _is _against us. The benefits outweigh the risks now."

Ari led me to the door, where we would part ways.

"I need you to do this. Tonight, in fact…whoever you've been planning with, gather them, gather weapons, and I'll get you a map."

Ari patted me on the shoulder in a fatherly manner, and turned to head to his room. However, he returned to me almost immediately.

"I know I'm asking a lot of you, Leon. But you're the only one I can trust to do this."

We met, eye to eye. His eyes shone with a distant sadness, as if he expected this to be the last time we would speak. I smiled weakly at him, trying to maintain a straight face.

"I'll be alright."

We parted ways then; my stomach was beginning to tighten in anticipation and apprehension, but I stayed calm. Tonight would be the climax of our grand plan; whether or not we succeeded would depend on how we went about it.

xXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXx

I decided not to tell Marcus until evening came; I wandered around the complex for most of the day, trying to ignore the growing fear that was clouding my thoughts like a dark shroud. Before speaking to Marcus, I decided to visit Miguel, who had taken to living in the same apartment as our people, away from the lobby where Paul and his followers normally lived.

"Miguel?"

His room was basically a glorified closet; there was a small bed, a nightstand, a small dresser, and a lamp all fit into a 10x8 space down on the eighth floor, where he lived alone. He seemed delighted to have a visitor, and welcome me in warmly.

"Just decided to come down and talk, eh?" Miguel asked, turning on the lamp as he welcomed me in. Despite the small size, the room was very well ventilated, and the tiny window at the top of the bed allowed some natural light in, although that amount was limited.

"Well…sort of. There's something I needed to ask you. Something serious."

Miguel's face darkened, much like Ari's earlier when he was prepared to hear bad news.

"Go on," he whispered, watching me closely.

I was going to recruit him into the assault on the cistern; at least, that's what my plan was. I was hoping that he would agree to back Marcus and I up once we left, in case everything went awry.

"Tonight…tonight…I've been commissioned by Ari to go on a mission."

Miguel was still listening, but I could read his eyes and his face very well. With every word that I spoke, his mouth became thinner and thinner, as he listened with intense apprehension.

"Marcus has already been signed up to go with me…we're going to be assaulting a raider outpost—"

Miguel straightened up immediately; he was completely taken aback by the idea.

"You…you're actually attacking them? The looters?"

He was whispering, to deter any eavesdroppers, but there was no mistaking the complete surprise in his voice. He hadn't seen it coming.

"It's—"

"Suicidal? Insane? Are you guys crazy? What kind of firepower do they have? What do we have?"

Miguel had a point; as he stood up, pacing the room and muttering incoherently, I began to realize that our situation was nearly hopeless. We were almost definitely outgunned, our arsenal consisting of hunting rifles, rusty pistols and the four assault rifles I had managed to pick up a few days back. We were almost certainly outnumbered; and our chances of surviving the attack, much less being successful in our mission, were incredibly slim.

_What was Ari thinking? Was he even thinking?_

At that moment, someone knocked on the door, which was half-open. As the door slid open, Rina peered inside, her happy, charming expression lighting up the rest of the room. She had never been in low spirits, ever since I had first met her; this was no exception. As she stepped into the room, she waved excitedly to me, and then motioned to Miguel, who had stopped pacing as soon as she had entered.

"Hi, Leon! You don't mind if I…er…interrupt?"

Rina cocked her head curiously, waiting for a reply. I nodded.

"Ah…Miguel, when you're done here, I've…cooked something. For us…it's just a quick dinner, nothing special…"

Even in the poor light of the lamp and the window, I could tell Rina was blushing. She clasped her hands together, waiting for a reply.

"A…dinner?" Miguel asked, rather shakily. I could tell that dinner was not on his mind right now.

"Just…something casual," Rina said, before suddenly stuttering. "Not…not like a d-date, nothing like that….n-no, it's just a casual little dinner. Something…er…s-special, just for us."

Rina was blushing again, her cheeks turning the darkest shade of red possible. Miguel, trying to avoid being too awkward, simply gave his reply.

"Um…yeah, sure…that would be great…"

His voice cracked, but Rina didn't notice. Her face was almost split by the smile, and she grabbed Miguel around the hips and hugged him tight before dashing out the door, leaving no trace behind.

We stood there for a moment, in complete silence. I didn't want to say anything; it would be too awkward, having just experienced the unpleasant situation I had been an involuntary witness to.

"I think I love her," Miguel whispered, his arms shaking visibly. He now turned to me, panicking.

"I…just couldn't say no, Leon…but I know you need me—"

"I don't necessarily need you, Miguel—"

"What do I do, then?"

He was now truly panicked; I assumed that he had not thought about our mission when accepting Rina's invitation to her "casual dinner". I was watching him closely, wondering what he was going to do.

"Miguel…it's up to you."

That didn't help him at all; rather, he seemed even more upset.

"Leon…I love her, I really do, I've been too nervous to do anything about it—"

His usually suave, calm personality was now upset by his sudden outburst of panic and anger, much like his state after Tobias' death.

"Just tell her you have to cancel—"

"But that would break her heart, don't you understand?" Miguel yelled at me, his hands balled up into tight, sweaty fists. "What if you did that to Celine? What if SHE invited you to a dinner, and you just broke off the engagement? How do you think she'd feel?"

For a moment, I was shocked beyond words; I had no idea Miguel knew anything about our relationship. We had done nothing to make anyone suspicious; in fact, we hadn't talked at all since the day before Tobias' death.

"I…I'm sorry…I shouldn't have said that…"

Miguel plopped himself down on the bed, his hands relaxing and returning to their normal state. I could see sweat gleaming on the back of his neck, and staining his T-shirt.

"Do what you think is right, then. If you can't tell her no—"

"I'm going with you."

His voice was firm, and I could tell he had resolved now to do his duty.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm positive. I cannot say no to her, but I cannot let you go out there alone…I couldn't let you die, Leon."

His eyes were appealing to me, gleaming in the dimming light. Night was coming on fast; my stomach grumbled, reminding me that it was past the usual dinner time.

"What will you do about Rina, then?"

Miguel seemed very troubled about this; he kept muttering "go with you", but he did not speak for a few moments.

"I…I cannot tell her no now. I will go with you, and…and take what I deserve afterwards."

His resolved was steeled; we shook hands, exchanging our vows to support one another, and then proceeded to the armory.

xXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXx

Marcus wasn't too pleased about being told at such a late hour, but he was overjoyed that we were given permission to undergo our attack.

"He knew about it beforehand," I told him as we geared up in the armory. Flashlights, silenced weapons, black clothing, and medical kits were necessities; I was also bringing a satchel, in case we needed to haul equipment back.

"Well, that doesn't matter now then, does it?" Marcus replied, throwing on a tattered, bloodstained bulletproof vest that had been collecting dust in a corner. "He said he would deal with it later…at least we've got his full support."

"He's still extremely concerned about it," I said, loading the assault rifle and taking a few extra clips.

"I don't blame him," Marcus grunted as he shuffled out of the armory. "We're taking one hell of a risk here. It's probably the most reckless thing anyone has done in this place."

As we silently stalked down the stairs, I realized that I had gone without dinner. So had Miguel; he should have been up at the top floor right now, enjoying his casual date with Rina. But here we were, decked out in battle gear and armed with military-grade weaponry, marching out into the night.

"You aren't thinking of going on without me, are you?"

I had known him for only three days now, but his voice was immediately recognizable. Paul stood at the doorway, his hands in his pockets, as if he was expecting us. Somehow, he had caught wind of our departure.

"Paul—"

My warning was cut off.

"You have an extra rifle, no?"

He motioned to the extra rifle slung across Marcus' back, which was to be used in case one of the others jammed or broke.

"Well, yes—"

"And you could use another shot, can't you? What with the risks you're taking…the more support, the better," he spoke with a devilish grin.

He was right; we could use another man, but Paul was the person I least wanted on our squad.

"He has a point," Miguel whispered. I could tell that he did not favor Paul, not in the slightest, but we were definitely outnumbered. The addition of another would at least balance the odds a little more.

"Miguel's right," Paul said, taking a rather mocking, demeaning tone. "You could use some support…which I would be happy to provide."

He extended his arm as if to reach out for the extra rifle. I turned to Marcus, who was the main leader of this operation since he was in better favor with Ari than anyone else. He nodded stiffly, before tossing the extra rifle to Paul.

"He'll be my responsibility," Marcus spoke, specifically to me. "If he screws anything up…there'll be hell to pay."

At this point, Marcus was completely sober, and as focused as possible. Paul caught the rifle, slung it across his back, and surprisingly fell into line behind Miguel and I, who followed closely behind Marcus as we left the soothing light of the warm lobby and entered the cold, pitch black world of night.


	13. Sudden Death

**A/N: Another author's note…to all of those who created their own character be advised. Not all characters will survive the story; I'm not saying anything, and I'm not going to give away spoilers. Also, I'm not going to be choosey about character deaths; the ones I created will suffer just as much as user-created characters. Just a fair warning; if yours is killed off, know that it will be for the good of the story, and not to spite you or anything. It will be nothing personal.**

As we left, we opted to recruit Dr. Itliano to join us, in case we needed a specialist when scavenging medical supplies. After a short delay of ten minutes, during which Miguel fetched the doctor and told him to bring a weapon, which he reluctantly did in the form of a rusty crowbar. And so we set out under cover of darkness, trying to find a way to the main sewer line in order to gain access to the tunnels that would lead us to the cistern. About half an hour of walking in the chilly, black cityscape brought us to a pipe main.

"This should…er…take us to the main sewer," Marcus grunted as he heaved a manhole off, creating a small aperture in the street that opened into pitch blackness. There was no moon; cloud cover was too heavy, and the only light we had was from our flashlights, small civilian models that illuminated little.

"Are you sure?" William asked, already nervous about carrying a weapon. He was reluctantly dragged into our mission, still dressed in his medical smocks.

"The map won't lie," Marcus said jokingly, holding up a sheet of laminated paper. "It'll be easy, this is a main route. As long as we don't split up, we'll be fine."

Setting the manhole down gently on the concrete, Marcus swept some of the ash off of his feet and stepped down into the sewer, using the service ladder to ease his way down the fifteen-foot descent.

"We've left a trail," I mused offhandedly, looking back down the street and shining my light on the pavement. Indeed, the ash was thick enough that our footprints were just barely visible, leading back towards the apartment about a mile away.

"That's alright. No one will be able to find it in the darkness, and it'll be gone by tomorrow," Paul said before making his descent. I was third to go; grabbing hold of the first rung of the service ladder, I ignored the sting of the icy metal and clambered down into the damp depths of the sewer.

The stench of the waste and pollution of the city was long gone, leaving nothing but a thick muddy slime on the bottom of the canal that ran through the middle of the massive pipe. You couldn't see five feet in either direction; Paul was shining his flashlight haphazardly off the walls, studying them.

"Can't see for shit down here. We could've had better lights," Paul muttered, shaking his as it began to dim. William slid down the ladder, landing rather roughly on the bottom.

"They're the best the armory had," Marcus spoke, keeping his voice low as Miguel dragged the manhole cover back over and climbed down. "We'll have to make the best of them. Let's move."

Marcus pointed his light down the right side of the tunnel, and began to march in the canal. I opted to walk on the concrete service walkways that lined the center, even though there was nothing in the canal. We marched about a quarter of a mile before Marcus ordered us to stop. He shone his small blue beam on the map, motioning for us to gather around him.

"It's about another half mile, the midtown cistern," he whispered, bringing the light closer to the map. "Once we get there, we need a plan; if there's a big camp there, there's sure to be sentries."

My gut was twisting into something resembling a pretzel; this whole plan felt wrong, as if everything was going to go haywire the moment the shooting started. Even with our silenced weapons, how long could we hold the element of surprise? They would eventually notice something was wrong, even if we knocked off the sentries…

We marched for another twenty minutes before I began to see lights up ahead. I thought that there was sentry incoming, before I realized that I was seeing a wall about a thousand feet away. We were at one of the five entrances to the cistern; as my eyes grew accustomed to the warm light ahead, Marcus ordered our flashlights off and gathered us in a small niche about a hundred feet away from the entrance.

"Alright, we need a plan…"

"Knock off the sentries first, and then try to sneak down into the cistern? Their main camp must be at the bottom…"

"What makes you say that?"

Marcus wasn't too sure, but I immediately pointed out his oversight.

"The lights would be much brighter if it were at an elevation," I pointed out the dim lighting on the cistern's ceiling. "They must be set up at the bottom."

Marcus nodded, wincing slightly as if he disliked being proven wrong, and returned to the map.

"These silencers will work wonders…we might be able to take out the sentries without sounding the alarm, if we're careful—"

At that moment, a lone light shone on the wall opposite to us. It was coming from the cistern; a high-beam flashlight, powerful enough to be noticeable even at this distance. I heard muttered oaths from someone.

"Shit…sentries…I didn't think they'd come this far…"

Marcus backed up against the wall, trying to keep a low profile. William, who was holding his crowbar at the ready, exchanged a look with me. I knew what he was planning; I looked at Marcus, pointed to William and then to the sentries. He nodded, keeping his back flat against the wall.

William was the closest to them; as the light grew stronger, and shadows began to stretch along the far wall, William raised his crowbar, ready to strike as soon as a head popped into view.

"—boss said that he saw one today, flying over—"

I heard the gruff voice, and then suddenly it was cut off as the silent weapon swung through the air and smashed into the bandit's skull. I could barely see as a flashlight beam was thrown right into my eyes, blinding me. I heard another smash, and heard the spurt of blood and a muffled cry, as the light disappeared, leaving me with shadows all over. Blinking furiously to clear the residue, I fought to stand up straight, glancing down at the two bodies, their heads shattered and their blood staining the slime beneath them crimson. William stood above them, crowbar dripping blood; the lights had gone out upon hitting the ground, and the mud had cushioned their fall. It was a silent kill; William breathed deeply and turned back to us, his face flecked with droplets of blood.

"Damn…nice kill, Doc," Paul whispered, kicking one of the bodies aside.

"Good and silent. That's a problem taken care of. Now we have to move, before they notice that these two are missing." Marcus led us out, crouching and creeping silently along one of the walkways as he neared the cistern. I could hear voices now, raucous and rambunctious voices emanating from the cistern, and I could also hear music.

"Sounds like they're having a good time," Miguel spoke, his eyes trained firmly on his optics.

"All the better for us," I whispered. If they were distracted with music and carousing, they would hardly notice their sentries biting the dust, if they even had sentries posted elsewhere.

As we crept around the corner and into the cistern, I was awestruck by the sheer size of the massive cylinder. It was at least two hundred feet from top to bottom, and nearly a hundred and fifty feet down from where we stood. Nearly a hundred feet wide, if not wider; and there were tunnels and small lines branching off in every direction, including the five main lines.

"I see…at least two sentries at each line, all relatively idle," Miguel whispered, observing the area. He was crouched behind a sizeable wall of corrugated scrap metal, all plastered to a wooden frame. These were at every station, presumably makeshift defenses in case of attack.

"They sure do have a hell of an outpost here," Miguel commented, surveying the rest of the scene. "At least twenty, maybe thirty down there. Several crude shacks, some tents, and two campfires, plus a makeshift armory. I can't tell if there's anyone in the buildings."

We were heavily outnumbered, but we still had the element of surprise. The lights up here were dim, punctuated only by the lamps at each sentry post. Marcus motioned to the one hanging over Miguel, and he promptly snuffed it out, leaving only a wafting smoke behind.

"Alright…everyone takes a post…er, well…I'll stay here, and keep the doctor with me. Everyone else take a post. Watch yourselves."

And so we crept along the wooden boardwalk affixed to the rim of the cistern. There was scaffolding, boardwalk and crude stairs lining the walls, all a mixed jumble of wood and iron supports. Thankfully, the boards did not creak or make any noise; and if they did, it was drowned out by the carousing party at the bottom.

"Looks like they're getting some sort of cage match together," Miguel said, glancing down at the men, who were setting up a box with a large iron cage around it. Two men were standing at either end, shirtless and geared up with boxing equipment.

"Heh. I'd pay to watch that…ape boxing," Miguel joked, but he stayed silent after that as we crept towards our objective. When we were within ten feet of the idle, unaware sentries, I motioned for Miguel to take his shot. The two men in police gear mixed with civilian clothes didn't notice us at all; as we popped our shots off, a roar came from down below, as a bell signaled the end of a round. It was perfect timing; as the loud cheers and boos echoed off the dusty stone walls, the two bodies flopped down lifelessly onto the wood, small sprays of blood hitting the floor and actually extinguishing the lamp.

"Well, they're doing our job for us," Miguel commented dryly, shifting one of the burly looters aside. "I'll go on to take out my post…stay frosty."

Miguel began to sneak down the aisle, keeping his body against the wall of the cistern. I saw two brief, silent flashes of light on the far side of the cistern, and knew that the third outpost had been knocked out. Two more to go; Miguel and Paul had to do their jobs.

I sat on the edge of the boardwalk, dangling my legs over a staircase. The men below were fighting it out in the cage, cheered on by their drunk, wild comrades. It was rather entertaining to watch; these two burly, apelike men exchanging blows until one was unconscious, drag the loser off, allow the winner to get piss drunk and then put him in the cage again. It must've been top-notch entertainment for them; for me, it was just a way of passing the time as I watched for the sets of flashes that were supposed to signal all clear. Slowly, the two sets of muzzle flashes appeared, and we owned the boardwalk.

I stalked back to Marcus, who wanted us all to assemble back at the first post when we were done. The fighters were showing no signs of letting up; as far as they knew, their sentries were still holding the perimeter.

"Alright, that went much better than I expected," Marcus muttered, actually sounding delighted. "Perfect, in fact. We've got these fish in the tightest barrel imaginable. Get to your posts, and when I flash my light on the ceiling…you'll be able to see it, don't worry…open fire."

There were no questions to be asked. We all proceeded to our posts, stalking along the dark aisles once more. It took nearly ten minutes, but Marcus must have anticipated the time it would take for us to get into position; just two minutes after I reached my post, the light was shone on the ceiling. I assumed that Miguel and Paul had taken up their stations at the farthest tunnels, and were ready.

My heart felt like it was going to burst out of my chest; my stomach was twisted in the tightest knot possible, almost painful. My head was throbbing; sweat was rolling down my cheeks and neck. I flipped the safety off, aimed the rifle down at the throng of men, and squeezed.

There was no noise, but the effect was instant. In the optics, I could see half a dozen men topple over or stumble, blood misting in the air above them and sometimes gushing out of their bodies. The cheering suddenly turned to massive panic; there was no sound but the whizzing bullets, cutting through the air and finding their marks easily. By the time the bandits realized that they were being attacked from above, half of them were dead or dying on the dusty floor of the cistern, the cage match long forgotten. A few of them had drawn pistols and were firing wildly; none of the bullets even came near as I chose my targets and fired in short, controlled bursts, taking out as many as possible. In a mere ten more seconds, it was all quiet. The four of us had taken out nearly thirty looters, with none of them in the buildings as far as we knew. Bodies covered the bottom of the cistern, haphazardly scattered, forming a grotesque, lucid portrait of their last moments.

"All clear!"

There was no one left to hear us; we waited for a few moments more, to see if anyone crawled out of the buildings. There was no movement from below; the air was so still, and began to stink of death as the stench of forced excrement and vomit wafted up to the top of the cistern.

"God…that smells terrible," Miguel hissed, walking over to me. His rifle's barrel was still smoking slightly, and he had emptied his entire clip into the mass of bandits; I had only used half of mine.

"It'll only get worse…let's go, we need to get out of here."

Marcus was signaling us to rendezvous at tunnel opposite to the one that we had come in from; after another five minutes of walking away from the mess at the cistern. We stopped at a small service ladder implanted in the wall opposite to us; fading red letters beside it read "MIDLAND HOSPITAL MAINTENANCE ACCESS".

"This is it…our ticket in," Marcus spoke, reading the map one last time. As he began to ascend the ladder, I called up after him.

"How are we going to get out? Presuming we have no trouble in the hospital," I asked as he climbed. He stopped momentarily.

"We'll go back through the cistern."

"And what if there's more of them? What if we can't?"

"Then we'll make our own way out," Marcus said. He sounded somewhat confident, but I could hear the uncertainty in his voice, and it made me uncomfortable.

"They'll probably get reinforcements to the cistern. They'll notice something's amiss, and they'll try to cut us off," Marcus called down after me as I climbed. He was almost at the top, reaching up to remove the manhole cover.

"So…we're just digging ourselves a deeper hole then?"

He hesitated briefly; the silence did not give me confidence.

"Digging deeper and deeper," he replied. I choked down my fears, grit my teeth and climbed up after him into the hostile labyrinth of Midland Children's Hospital.


	14. Dark Corridors

I slid the manhole open quietly, lifting the heavy metal grate up and then gently depositing it on the hospital's linoleum floor. There were no lights on inside; the electricity was still out, and the raiders had most likely never figured out how to get the main breaker or the emergency generator online.

"It's all clear…no lights, though," I whispered down to everyone else, hanging on to separate areas of the ladder waiting for my report. Slowly, with a large amount of hushed grunting and cursing, every one of us entered the ground floor of the hospital's maintenance section. The hallways were pitch black, with no lighting save for our flashlights. The silence was suppressive; it felt like a massive hand, suffocative and deadly, choking.

"We need to stay together. We'll only split up if we absolutely must," Marcus outlined our plan. "I have no idea where the supplies we're looking for will be…so we're going to have to wing this."

Everyone knew our time was limited; it was only a matter of ten, maybe fifteen minutes before someone happened upon the cistern and found the mess we had left behind. Other raiders would be trying to call the sentries, and if they received no response, they would become suspicious and investigate. There were so many ways this plan could backfire completely; I was just praying for the best, ignoring the tight knots forming in my stomach.

"Use your flashlights only if you must. There will almost certainly be sentries patrolling, so keep your distance," Marcus warned us. Taking the vanguard position, Marcus led us down one of the hallways, holding the flashlight at a 45-degree angle to keep our profile low. After about three minutes of creeping through the darkness, we finally reached a four-way intersection.

"Shit…this isn't good."

There were three signs; all of them said "SUPPLIES" on them, and each one pointed a different direction.

"So…at least we know where the medical supplies are," I said optimistically, which was immediately met with a negative reaction.

"Some help you are. We're going to _have _to split up…meet up back here in no more than ten minutes."

"That's pretty tight," I warned him as I began to lead William down the left fork.

"We have no choice. There's no doubt they'll sound an alarm soon."

With that, our group separated into small units. My eyes had adjusted slightly to the darkness, but the flashlight was still necessary. There was no exterior illumination; no moonlight, no streetlights, nothing. The clouds overhead were too thick to allow any of the moon's light to filter in, and the electricity was still out.

"Up ahead…lights!" William snapped. I thought he meant that there were hallway lights on up ahead, but my heart sank as soon as I saw a flashlight beam slicing through the thick shroud of darkness. I heard voices, gruff and rocky, growing louder as the beams came closer.

"Down here…quick!" I hissed, hauling William down a side hallway. I could hear my heart beating furiously, pumping faster and faster as sweat slid down my forehead.

"…try to contact them again; they're probably having another cage match or something…"

"…I tried twice, there's no answer…I'll call the sentries again, but if they don't answer I'm going down there to give those bums what for…"

Slowly, the beams disappeared; they had gone straight down their hallway, and hadn't made a right turn down towards the fork we had come from. I breathed a sigh of relief, but William was concerned.

"They've noticed there's nobody answering. Our time is limited…if they go down there, and see…"

"We need to hurry," I whispered, tapping him on the shoulder. I glanced once down the main hallway before sneaking out, using the darkness to my advantage. "There's another sign for supplies," I said, turning on my torch and pointing it at a small plaque on the far wall. It pointed down the way that the patrol had come from.

"I'm not so sure…"

"We'll be quick. Hopefully there's something useful in there…"

Keeping our footsteps light, William and I proceeded down the hallway and turned left; glancing behind us to make sure no one was following. There was no sign of anyone else in the facility besides those patrols; I hadn't heard gunfire of any sort, so that was a good sign, although it didn't account for our silenced weapons.

"Here it is…says right on there, 'Supply Cabinet'…"

William, clutching his breast for some odd reason, was pointing to a large metal door that was marked with the same sign. We were out of the maintenance area now, the hard linoleum giving way to thick concrete as we entered main storage.

"Damn…this door's locked tight," I cursed, trying to force it open. It simply wouldn't budge; I pushed, and pulled, and even tried to slide it, but I had no luck. William gently pushed me aside and took about ten seconds to examine the door.

"It's power locked."

"Excuse me?"

"It requires electricity to open. Without a source, there's no way this door is going to open," he explained as he stepped away from the door. He tiptoed over to another, and examined it. "Same here…all these doors look to be power-locked. I'm not sure why." He motioned to the long hallway of heavy metal doors.

"So…"

"If I can find the generator, I can keep the main breaker off while diverting power to only this sector. The lights will go on, but the doors will be open," William said.

"And if there's no juice for the generator?"

His face darkened, as if he didn't expect such things to be.

"Well…"

Without another thought to the matter, William disappeared back the way we came, back to Maintenance. The generator would most likely be in maintenance; however, I had the feeling that everything was going to collapse, and that our plan would fail utterly somehow. Left alone, I decided to slink down deeper into storage and see if there were any doors that were unlocked.

As I crept down the darkened hallway, I heard voices behind me. A flashlight beam was shining farther down the main branch, and I could see two dark figures coming towards me; the patrols were coming back.

My heart skipped several beats; not one, not two, but more. It began to pound against my chest, yearning to escape, or so it seemed. Silencing my footsteps, I tried to slink further back into the hallway, desperately hoping to find a door that wasn't locked. They were walking faster than I was; I was trying to budge or open every door, as well as ensure that my footsteps made no noise as I retreated into the darkness. After a pulse-pounding minute, I hit something hard, and almost fainted out of fear.

The hallway had ended in blackness. I could feel the hard concrete wall behind me, obstructing any further retreat. In terror, I fell against one of the nearby doors, and realized that it was ajar, though only slightly. Watching in absolute horror as the patrols entered storage, their torches bouncing off the walls and floor; I crept into the room, desperately searching for somewhere to hide.

There was no light, and each corner would be able to hide me so long as neither of the sentries entered the room. I could hear their boots now, trudging the floor, and I could hear distant voices, gruff and angry, just like before. Only now I could detect concern, maybe even fear in their speech. I backed into one of the corners behind a shelf of boxes and empty plastic bags, praying to whatever deity was listening and hoping that I would remain undiscovered.

"Warren didn't close the damn door all the way. I told him…"

"Just close it, and we can get onto Warren later. Let's finish the patrol, I'm starving…"

"Did you contact the tunnels?"

"Nah, I couldn't get a hold of them. Prats are probably partying like there's no tomorrow down there; I sent Biggs and McCauley to give them the message…"

The voices faded away as I held my breath. They had closed the door, and their voices disappeared and left me with silence once more.

I eased the door open; apparently this one wasn't powered, because someone else had opened it before me, and I was able to escape. The two figures faded into the darkness again, their flashlight beams the only light in the entire building. As I waited, watching them disappear, I prayed that they would be gone before William turned the lights on, if he got the generator working.

A massively bright light shone in my eyes, blinding me. It was like a flashbang, but without the noise and the sensory confusion; I was blind, but I could still hear, could still smell and feel. I could hear voices, angry and confused voices, before I heard the soft thump and the splashing and the sickening sound of something heavy and squishy hitting the hard floor. As my eyes adjusted to the sudden burst of light, I saw a tall figure looming over me, and as I blinked Marcus came into focus.

"That was a damn stupid thing you did," he gritted his teeth, pulling me to my feet. The darkness in the storage area was gone, replaced with harsh fluorescent lights overhead. "We need to get what we can and go, they'll be on to us in a minute."

I saw Miguel and Paul behind him, and heard hard footsteps on the linoleum back in the dark areas of the hospital. William almost slammed into a wall, he was racing so fast to get to us. I saw the bodies of the two sentries down the far hallway, the blood barely visible against the tiled wall.

"Get these doors open. Anything you can carry without weighing you down, take!" Marcus barked, taking up a position at the end of the hallway.

"We made one giant damn circle," Marcus cursed, holding his rifle at the ready. "All those other hallways just led back to here. There's only one main storage area."

"I've got ammo…morphine…there's oxygen in here!" I heard Paul yell, his voice distinct.

"Grab as much as you can!" Marcus called back.

Miguel and Paul issued out of the supply cabinet with their packs bulging, full of different supplies. William was carrying a small pump and had two large oxygen tanks strapped to his back; it looked like he was having trouble carrying everything.

"Here…I'll take that oxygen," I said to him as he picked up a couple small breathing units, holding them as he transferred the oxygen tanks to me.

"Strap those on—"

At that moment, the low howling of dogs echoed through every hallway and room of the hospital; there was barking, howling and growling, distant but loud and blood chilling.

"They know we're here…we need to get out!" Marcus yelled, and began to run back towards the area we came from. We followed after him, in a single-file line, as the chorus of howling grew louder and closer.

"They've set dogs on us…" Paul muttered, his breathing heavy and forced. He was obviously not used to sprinting, and was finding it difficult to keep up. We were running in darkness now, back in the unlit maintenance area. I held my rifle tightly, hoping that I would not have to use it again tonight

"There's the manhole, move!" Marcus yelled, nearly shoving me down the dark access ladder. I gripped the rungs tightly, half sliding down the slimy metal back into the tunnels. Miguel almost fell on top of me, the weight of his pack bearing him down, and William nearly dropped, unable to hold on tightly due to the heavy pump held in his right hand. I could hear soft thumping from above, and shells bounced down the ladder and hit the concrete with a ping.

"GO! GO!" Marcus yelled down after us. I could hear the soft, high-pitched tinkling of paws on the linoleum above, and the barks were almost ear-splitting; as Marcus pulled the manhole cover back over, I caught a quick glimpse of a massive Rottweiler before he closed the grate and came down with us.

"Don't wait here—GO!" Marcus yelled at us, ushering us onward for the third time. We began to sprint back down the tunnel, towards the cistern. I could hear voices, yelling and barking orders, from up ahead.

"Contact!" I yelled as two figures emerged from the main cistern up ahead. There were gunshots; not our silenced thumps, but loud, raucous gunshots from the two men up ahead. I heard bullets banging off the concrete sides of the tunnel, and one thump somewhere in the mud, but our shots put the two down before they could do any damage.

Any more damage, that is.

I heard a groan behind me, and saw where the thump had come from; not from the mud of the canal, but from the flesh of Miguel's leg, where a bullet had hit him right below the kneecap. He was bleeding, not profusely, but enough to merit attention.

"It's nothing major," Miguel muttered, clenching his fists to ward off the pain. Marcus threw him over his shoulder.

"You still can't walk. We've only got two guns left—take the vanguard!" he barked to Paul and I, who led the group along the wooden catwalks. As we ran, I saw a figure on one of the stairwells, an assault rifle raised, ready for us. I dropped to one knee, scraping my bare flesh on the wood, and popped two rounds into him, sending the body tumbling over the side.

There were shouts from down below, and a barrage of automatic gunfire. The crackling of the guns combined with the rounds bouncing off the wood and metal framework left my ears ringing as we reached the very first command post and made out for the escape tunnel. I fired several rounds behind me at two silhouettes sprinting up a set of stairs; they shirked back as the shots embedded themselves in the soft wood floor of the walkway, giving us time to escape to the dark tunnels and reach the service ladder back up to the city.

As soon as we piled up on top, William withdrew a medical bracer from Miguel's bag and applied it.

"That should help…a bit," William panted as Marcus moved the cover into position.

"That was too damn close," Marcus cursed, keeping one eye on the manhole as he returned to us. "We've lost them, but they know we're here."

"It's too bad we couldn't have killed more," Paul muttered, and I noticed he had that glint in his eye again, the one that disturbed me.

"We killed enough as is," Marcus scoffed, picking up Miguel again, who began to protest quietly. "As soon as we get back Conor can get a Restoration potion ready and he'll be fine. We need to head back, he's bleeding quite a bit."

The back of Marcus' shirt was indeed stained with bright red blood, from having Miguel's injured leg propped up on his shoulder. The bracer was helping, and I was able to fashion a makeshift tourniquet out of part of my shirt, which had ripped when I was running along the woodwork in the cistern.

It was midnight by the time we returned to the stronghold. Marcus forced us to wait outside for about ten minutes to make sure we weren't being followed, and finally gave the all clear. Everyone was asleep inside, except for Clara, our sentry. She allowed us to pass, expressing her relief that we were alive.

"I'll keep you for the night," William spoke to Miguel, who was ushered into the infirmary to sleep across from an unconscious Art. "As soon as I set up his equipment, I can get one of those potions to you."

I left the infirmary, eager to get some sleep. I flopped down in my own bed, realizing that I was aching all over after the action. Sleep fell very quickly; but it wouldn't last long.


	15. Tea With an Enderman

"_I understand the situation, how this can all unravel with a simple misstep—"_

"_But you're doing nothing about it! I've watched him, I've been tracking him, and I've been watching over this entire city! There's so much that can go wrong!"_

"_What would you have me do about it?"_

"_Do something! Don't just wait there, on the other side…you can do something for them, can't you?"_

"_It's not as simple as that…I swore that I would remain passive in this. It's his fight, their fight, and I can only guide them from here—"_

"_What about me? What am I supposed to do? Watch them die slowly as their world falls apart?"_

"_Your attitude is the reason I put you in here in the first place. But I also trust you, and I trust you to watch over them. I cannot do it all the time…but I have entrusted you to a job. Stay to the side, make sure he is alright, but do nothing more."_

I woke up the next morning with a heavy head and aching limbs. I was sore all over; my muscles were tense and unwilling to move, and my neck was stiff. It took me nearly ten minutes to force myself up out of bed, groaning from the pain, and shuffle into the main room, where breakfast was sitting out on a large pan, still warm.

"Just finished baking this batch," Derek spoke, carrying a bowl of dough as he walked. "A rare treat, danishes."

They smelled heavenly; reminding myself that I had skipped on dinner last night, I devoured at least two pastries before Derek gently ushered me away from the tray, to allow others to eat. Clara, who looked drowsy after her sentry duty, shuffled inside, followed by a bleary-eyed Miguel.

"Slept horribly," Miguel muttered, taking one of the gooey pastries for himself. "I just…couldn't sleep at all."

"Me neither," I responded, finishing off the last hunk of buttery pastry in my hand. "I kept hearing…voices."

"Voices?"

"Yeah, like…just in my head. I couldn't place them, I've never heard them before…"

Miguel seemed momentarily concerned, but he immediately waved those thoughts aside.

"You were just exhausted. Shit like that plays games with your head. You're fine now, right?"

"Yeah, yeah…just needed some rest, that's all," I reassured him. The voices disturbed me, but I agreed with Miguel; they were probably just hallucinations or dreams, brought on by my adrenaline-fueled episode the previous night.

"Ari said that he wanted to speak with you. Didn't say anything about it, though," Miguel yelled back as he left the kitchen. Curious, I swiped another pastry while Derek was distracted and strode out of the room, heading down to Ari's quarters. I could hear voices from inside; I recognized Ari's thick accent, and Paul's gravelly voice. Stepping inside, I found both of them along with Celine talking in hushed voices, in the back of the room.

"Door, please," Ari snapped, and I shut the door tight, concerned. He beckoned me to the corner.

"We…have a problem."

Those words were what I wanted to hear the least.

"After last night…well, we announced ourselves. Rather bloodily and rather unexpectedly. The good thing is, the raiders seemed surprised and taken aback last night. I dispatched Celine—" I twitched noticeably as he mentioned the risk she took "—alone to investigate, and she reported that they were very disorganized and bewildered. We took them off guard, and possibly crippled their mid-city outpost."

It sounded like Ari couldn't decide whether it was good news, or bad news. True, we had introduced ourselves with a bang, and had established hatred in the hearts of every raider out there. But we had done quite a bit of damage, killing nearly forty of their men at the expense of Miguel's leg, which had been healed already by a Restoration Potion.

"And, the bad news. We got lucky, striking them when they were unprepared. They outnumber us, outgun us, and they have the advantage of knowing more about the city than we do. They've explored more, and annexed more of it. So we've made ourselves a powerful enemy."

Ari shook his head, holding his forehead in his palm.

"What else would we have done? Just ask them for the equipment?" Paul spoke. It made sense; the raiders had always been hostile to us, and simply asking them for valuable supplies would be useless.

"There was…no other option, the way I see it," I pitched in, hoping to convince Ari that he made the right choice. "Art is suffering, but at least we can help him now. Without that equipment…he would be a lost cause. And we can't afford any more casualties, not after Tobias."

Ari was conflicted; he had put his best men in danger, but it _had _been for a good reason, one that was for the benefit of the entire community. After a few moments of his head sitting idly in his palm, he ushered us out.

"Thank you for your time. We will just have to wait and see what the future holds."

As he moved us out, I decided I needed to talk to Ari about the note I had found upon my arrival.

"Ari?"

"Something else, Leon?" he asked, trying to hide his irritation.

"There's…something I have to show you."

"Is it important?"

"Well…the thing is, I'm not sure. It could be very important, but I figured you might want to see it."

Ari looked bemused, but he followed me anyway as I led him down to my bedroom, where the note from the mysterious Dr. Kagsttrom was lying on my nightstand, underneath a pocket knife.

"I found this note on my first day in Langsford Peak…out in the suburbs, out east."

I unfolded the crumpled note for Ari, who took it and began to read it thoroughly. His face contorted into many different expressions as he read through it, but he finally settled on being thoroughly unhappy.

"This isn't something I need to be concerned with, Leon. It's beyond me, and beyond you as well."

I was taken aback by his words; Ari had rarely gotten upset with me, even if he wasn't yelling in my face.

"I want you to forget this, Leon. Just…forget it, toss it aside. It's of no importance to you or to the community, and we have bigger problems to deal with."

Ari waited for a response; I murmured something to the affirmative.

"Thank you."

As he left, Celine stepped inside my room, looking back at Ari.

"What was that all about?"

I decided to lie about the note, figuring it was too trivial to worry about right now.

"Nothing…he wanted to talk about last night. Just…er…personal business," I lied. Celine's usual smile faded slightly, but to my relief she did not pursue the subject.

"Oh well. I just came by to visit…no reason," she smiled. We sat on the bed together; I wrapped my arm around her waist, straining to move it even slightly.

"Well…there is something I wanted to talk to you about."

"What is it?"

I wanted to talk to her about the voices I had heard. Hopefully she would just pass them off as a dream too, just like Miguel; however, I had a growing feeling that the voices were more than just a subconscious creation.

"Well…last night, after I fell asleep…I heard voices."

Celine seemed concerned. She wrapped her arm around my shoulder to hold me closer.

"Voices?" she whispered, checking to make sure nobody was in the hallway. The corridor was vacant.

"Yeah…I couldn't place them, I don't know if it was a dream or something…"

"It was probably just a dream," she reassured me, kissing me gently on the cheek. Her lips felt warm and soothing as they touched my flesh again. "Nothing to worry about."

"I…just…what if it is me? What if there's something wrong with me?"

"Sweetheart…there's nothing to worry about, alright? I'm sure it's just something minor that won't hurt you at all. I'm always here to talk if you need me."

We kissed again, holding each other closely in an emotional embrace, breaking off only after a few seconds of shared pleasure. She blushed as she pulled away, flipping her blond hair back over her shoulder.

"We can have dinner tonight…just the two of us. I'll ask Derek to fix something good up."

She winked as she left the room, leaving me in my state of thoughtful solitude. I wasn't convinced that my problems were over; I decided to see someone else.

xXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXx

I found him in the park, haunting his usual haunts. By this time, he was rather pleasant to me, inviting me into the dingy park maintenance shed that had become his makeshift home.

"There are some of your…commodities…stored here, left by those who abandoned it," the Enderman spoke, stooping to enter the shack. "I shall do my best to prepare something for you."

I took a seat at the small, cracked wooden table in the center of the shack; there were only three rooms, and in the main room there was a bed jammed tightly inbetween a wall and some empty shelves.

The two children were playing a game outside, unsupervised; or, so I was told. I did not understand how holding hands and locking eyes could be a game, but I understood little about the Endermen, and assumed it was normal.

"There is only one thing of yours I can consume due to its content…something in it allows me to consume it."

The Enderman reentered the main room with two cups of steaming black tea, each with a small lump of sugar dissolving in it.

"Tea?"

"The one thing. I do not know why, but I do rather enjoy it."

The Enderman took a deep gulp from his cup, obviously ignorant of the boiling liquid searing his throat.

"Do you like it? I should've asked beforehand," the Enderman asked, cocking his head and glancing at my cup, which I had not touched.

"Er…yes, I do…it's just, hot and all—"

"Ah. I'm sorry…it does not bother me, but I'm sure…yes, I apologize…"

I felt rather embarrassed as the Enderman took another sip, before inquiring about my business.

"So…what is it that you wish to speak about? My time is unlimited, so feel free to stay as long as you'd like."

I thanked him for the invitation, and told him about the voices I had experienced the previous night. The Enderman seemed genuinely concerned, and confused; I had the feeling that he could do nothing to help me.

"It sounds like a dream, sort of…but then again—"

"You mean to say it's a mental disorder?"

"I know nothing of what affects the human brain," the Enderman spoke, downing the rest of his tea as I ventured to take a sip. It was bitter, and the sugar helped little, but I drank most of it just to be kind.

"So—"

"So I have no expertise on it. But I do know that hearing voices is not a good sign, at least in your world."

I snapped up from my tea; I was about to take another sip when he said this.

"In my world?"

"Yes…in the human world, I have learned that hearing voices is not a good thing. However, in my dimension, hearing voices is a sign that one is connected to intangible…er…spirits."

"Spirits?"

"Yes, spirits," he repeated. "We know little about them, only the elders truly know about them, and they tell us almost nothing. Those of us commoners who receive this gift are spirited off to the Endermirk…"

The Enderman stopped in midsentence, catching himself.

"I…have said too much. I shouldn't know this, but I do. It's a long story…but the point is, it may be a dream, it may be a problem, or it may be someone trying to contact you."

"Contact me?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. In the distance, I began to hear a low whirring, like that of a helicopter.

"Psychically…as strange as it may sound, it could be an explanation. If it happens again, it's more likely than just a dream…"

The whirring grew louder; the Enderman ushered me outside, thanking me for visiting. Overhead, a helicopter banked left around an apartment building and disappeared behind another, heading east.

"They have been quite common. Every couple of days, one of them passes over or can be heard in the vicinity. I do not know why, but it just happens."

The Enderman sighed, staring at the horizon to where the helicopter had disappeared. It was visibly darker to the east, as the wildfires were growing and coming closer.

"You had best be off, Leon Walker. Thank you for your visit, and I hope what I said might enlighten you as to the source of your problem."

I said my goodbyes before heading back to the stronghold, curious about everything he had told me and wondering whether or not I was insane.


	16. Enemy at the Gates

**A/N: Well, here's Chapter 16! I'm putting an author's note in here because I have a new profile with more information and some changed stuff. Basically, it's nicer, and more compact that my previous profile. So check it out! Feel free.**

"_How long must I suffer this? How long?"_

"_I cannot—"_

"_Tell me, damn you! How long do you plan to trap me here, like an animal, like some sort of guinea pig for a twisted experiment?"_

"_You do not know how much this matters to me—"_

"_I know this matters to you…this is your life, this is your creation and I understand your attachment to it, but I am still a prisoner here! For so long, I have been…how much longer?"_

"_I cannot forgive you; I cannot…not yet…"_

Someone was shaking my shoulders, waking me from my deep sleep. I saw the bulky form of Marcus leaning over me.

"Get dressed, and quick. We've got visitors," he snapped. He had his silenced rifle slung over his shoulder, and my heart sank as I realized that we had more trouble. I threw on some old work clothes, stained with sweat, and ran down the stairs to the lobby, my hair disheveled. I must have looked exhausted as well; it was nearly two in the morning, and I hadn't gotten to sleep until nearly midnight. I had just heard the voices before Marcus woke me.

Ari and Clara were waiting down in the lobby, both armed.

"You didn't grab a weapon?" Ari asked me, and his tone was unnerving.

"Er…no…why?"

"We have some rather unpleasant company. Stay behind me."

As he opened the lobby's double doors, I noticed the large assembly of gruff, ragged men standing outside, with two ATVs and a large pickup truck idling on the curb. Paul and Conor were standing in their garage, apparently guarding their vehicles and watching our visitors cautiously.

"Evening, gentlemen," a deep, hearty voice called out to us. He was wearing military fatigues, with his own emblem on it resembling a massive red star, only bleeding. A large satchel hung from his back, and he had two .44 magnums strapped to either hip.

"I wasn't expecting visitors at such a late hour…I'm afraid you're not terribly welcome here, though," Ari spoke, keeping a neutral tone but doing little to hide his obvious dislike of the newcomers.

"Ah…our reception is rather surprising. I would have expected you to just open fire on us as soon as we arrived. Quite the gentlemen you are, then."

There was a sinister undertone to the muscled man's voice, as if he shared the same disdain mutual disdain with Ari.

"What do you want?"

"We are called many things…looters, raiders, scavengers, thugs. We call ourselves the Langsford Brotherhood…uniting the many various peoples of Langsford Peak left behind here after—"

"Make your point, please," Ari interjected.

"—we have come to strike a deal with you. A large amount of my good followers were slain last night…a terrible ordeal, to see my fine soldiers gunned down in such…cold blood…"

His eyes darted to each one of us, studying the men who stood before him.

"It is unfortunate that you chose to spill our blood…we know it was your group, we tracked you down…"

Ari turned back to us, his face flushing.

"I thought you said they weren't following you?" He hissed at Marcus.

"They weren't—"

"—we have come here bearing a white flag of truce. Not surrender, simply truce…we put aside our hostilities for a moment, and negotiate as civilized human beings."

The raider leader extended his hand, apparently expecting Ari to do the same. The latter refused.

"You have attacked us before, without our provocation. Why?" he asked, gritting his teeth. He did nothing now to hide his dislike, and the raider leader noticed.

"Please, let's keep this civilized…I can answer that for you."

"Go on, then," Ari said.

The leader turned back to his men before returning to us, I assumed for dramatic effect.

"A wise man once said…'the meek shall inherit the earth'. That saying is not just misleading, but utterly wrong. When our civilization collapsed, and society burned, the meek did not inherit the earth, like promised. The strong did so…only the strong survive, my friend. _We _cannot be meek…we must be strong, and we must be aggressive, and fight for what we need. You were an enemy, and technically still are an enemy. There are no _friends_ in this world anymore…friends are meek, weak and forced to rely on each other. There are only those who are strong enough to stand up and survive…those who rely on no one but themselves."

"Your point?"

"We attacked you because you were a threat to our survival. _Everyone _is a threat to our survival, even if they mean no harm. Anybody can turn against us at any given moment…that's why we are _one_. We rely on ourselves, we are one single fighting force…and that is what makes us strong. The more people that survive out there, the weaker we are."

The raider leader was surprisingly thoughtful and intelligent; I imagined him as a thick-headed, muscle-bound berserker with only a thought for a big gun. Although he was muscular, and heavyset, he had the mind of a philosopher, even if I didn't agree with his theories.

"I don't believe in that. We have survived together…we are not one, we are many different people. We've tried to communicate with other survivors, try to ally with them…people are stronger together," Ari argued.

"You might think that…"

"What about your community? You're made of many different people, from different backgrounds and races—"

"They…are not individuals," the leader hissed, and I sensed that Ari had disturbed him. "None of us are individuals. _We are one_. Newcomers are trained to be one with the group, to fight with the group as a single powerful force. Your unique traits, your individuality divides you, makes you weaker. And you pose a threat to us…so we fight back. As one."

There was a silence that threatened a fight; no one pulled their guns, but the air was tense. Finally, the leader asked his own question.

"Why did you attack us, then? What is your reasoning?" he queried.

"We needed medical supplies. We weren't just going to walk up to your front door and ask for them. I sent my men in, I gave that order."

I expected the leader to give his rebuttal, but he just laughed.

"Hah…you are a smart man, indeed. We would've killed all of you if you had asked…you are a competent leader, much more than I expected from a band of survivors like you."

The leader did not notice Ari's eye twitch.

"Ah…but now, to business. We are at war, technically. I aim to destroy those who oppose me, and make my force weaker…but in this case, I will give you the chance to negotiate. This is a rare opportunity for your people."

"Go on," Ari said, so quietly that he could barely be heard.

"The people you sent in on that attack…I don't know how many there were, but I want them. Hand them over to me, along with their weapons and gear, and I will swear an oath to leave your community in peace. So long as I receive these men or women…I will extend peace to you and your people."

I tensed up immediately; I noticed Marcus do the same, realizing that his life was suddenly in more danger than ever before. He tried to speak to Ari, but all that came out was a strangled cough as Ari grabbed him by the shoulder and shook him, forcing him to be silent.

"I will never give them away. They did what I thought was right…and they are my soldiers."

The leader did not ask again; he bowed his head momentarily, respecting Ari's decision.

"Very well. If this is your final decision, then from this day forth I shall work to destroy you. We cannot have peace, never. We are now in total war."

The bandit leader began to turn around, jumping into the bay of one of the trucks as his followers mounted up.

"I can feel a storm coming," the leader called out as the trucks roared to life. "And I sense that we are all going to party to its wrath. Best be prepared for when it strikes."

The headlights of the vehicles fluttered about wildly as the trucks did several awkward maneuvers to get themselves onto the street, before driving off in a single-file line. The sound of their engines disappeared as Paul and Conor stalked up to us, their weapons holstered.

"Well, well. Looks like we're fucked then," Paul said dryly, tapping the stock of his weapon.

"We are not," Ari snapped back, still staring into the space that was previously occupied by the Brotherhood raiders. "We will not bow down to them, we will not surrender—"

"We're outnumbered, outgunned, and hopelessly smaller than they are," Paul argued. "If you ask me, it's a losing battle."

"You give up too easily," Ari retorted as he led Clara back inside. Paul muttered something crude under his breath before he too stepped inside, followed by Conor. Marcus had left before the raiders had dispersed; I was left alone outside, standing on the sidewalk, staring out into space.

We were faced with an enemy that we _certainly _could not defeat. Ari was too optimistic about the situation; we were fighting a losing battle, one that would cost us dearly and leave us with nothing but ruins. The Brotherhood might have been reeling after our attack, but I knew that they would regroup, and would have a bloody vendetta against us.

"Something on your mind?"

The Enderman's voice was still rough, but it was comforting to hear something familiar. He was standing right where Paul had been a few minutes ago, just barely within the harsh glow of the lobby lights. The two children were there as well; they no longer hid themselves behind the tall body of their father, but they faced me as if I were a family acquaintance.

"Er…well, yes…but what are you doing out?" I asked him, trying to shake the topic of the Brotherhood.

"Simply walking. I find that night is the best time to take a walk."

"Alright—"

"So what is on your mind?" the Enderman asked. He was persistent, and I knew that he wanted to know if I had any more problems.

"Well…we're in a bit of a bad situation…"

"Is it about those men?" the Enderman asked. I was momentarily surprised, but I realized that he had been watching us the entire time; that's how he knew.

"You were watching," I said blankly.

"From the shadows, yes. I'm sure that I am not welcome in either group. I assume that you are hostile to this group of men?"

"Very much so. We actually attacked them last night—"

"So you were the aggressors?" the Enderman assumed.

"No. They've been attacking us for days…so technically, they started it."

"It won't matter who started it, only who finishes it," the Enderman said sadly. I knew that he hated violence in any way, shape or form. I do not know whether it stemmed from his painful exile, or whether it was just part of his personality.

"Well, I must part. We have to enjoy this time to ourselves," the Enderman spoke, raising his voice and wrapping the slender black arms around his children.

I did not say goodbye, simply nodded as he disappeared into the blackness, walking towards the southern part of town. I realized that I should've been inside five minutes ago, not standing out on the curb, completely exposed. Taking one last look up at the thick sheet of clouds, which served as a veil for the heavens, I parted the doors of the lobby and locked them behind me, eager to get another night's sleep.


	17. A Friendly Hand

I awoke the next morning, overjoyed that I had not heard any voices, but rather perplexed and worried when I smelled something akin to burnt rubber. The smell, wafting in through the shoddy ventilation system, was nauseating, and there was no way to escape it but open the tiny window at the top of my bed, which let in a little bit of fresh air.

I dressed hurriedly, gagging at the smell, and rushed up to the main kitchen area, where Rina and William were both examining the generator. Rina was checking the gas monitor, and William was working rather furiously in the back end, where a small column of smoke was rising and dissipating. Since the room was open air, the smell was less pungent.

"Not good, not good at all," William was muttering, his voice muffled by the generator, which was grumbling weakly. Derek was handing out small rations of cold cereal, and I knew that we had trouble.

"Well, it's operational…but we're going to have to cut power to everything that's not crucial," William said, and several people gathered around him groaned and muttered. People were holding bowls of cereal in their hands, watching as William replaced the generator's plating on his side. Ari, who was watching him intently, noticed me and immediately briefed me on what had happened.

"Last night, we had a generator leak apparently. Half of our fuel supply leaked out—" he pointed to the floor, and I then noticed the massive, ugly brown stain under the generator, "—and we're at low reserves. We have enough fuel for another twenty-four hours, and then that's it."

It was worse than I expected. Twenty-four hours…if we didn't find fuel soon, we would be helpless. Less electricity…we'd have to give up luxuries like hot showers and warm meals, but if we had none, the infirmary would be unable to operate and we wouldn't be able to maintain the single HAM radio we'd manage to scavenge.

"We need fuel…it's an urgent need, now that Lee's been diagnosed—"

Lee was our HVAC man, keeping our ventilation clean and monitoring our heating and cooling, which was a luxury we could go without. However, we couldn't lose another man.

"Lee?"

"Same as Art—since he doesn't have breathing problems, it hasn't affected him as much, but it will grow worse with time…at least we have some equipment…"

William was finished with the generator, and was fording the group of people surrounding him, which included Miguel, Celine and Conor.

"We need to power down everything but the infirmary and main lighting if we want this to last at least twenty-four hours," William spoke as the crowd dispersed. Rina was pouring the last of a canister of gasoline in, letting the last few drops dribble before setting the can down.

"Do you know how to?"

"I do, sir, but I need to tend to the infirmary. I'm the only one who can work that medical equipment—Rina's perfectly capable," William said, before giving each of us a nod and turning sharply on his heels to leave the room. Rina had heard the entire thing; as Ari turned to speak, she gave him thumbs-up and, ever optimistic, strode down the hall. Within a few moments, the lights overhead of us flipped off, blinking their last as the power went down.

"Leon, I'm going to need you and Celine to go out again and try to find as much—"

At that moment, Paul ran into the room, breathless; he had gone up every flight of stairs to reach us.

"There are…visitors," he exhaled, gripping the doorframe.

"The Brotherhood again?"

"No…no, they're others…haven't seen them before…" Paul answered, stepping aside as Ari hurried out of the door. I tailed him all the way down to the lobby, where a mass of people waited outside. They were even better equipped than the Brotherhood; as I followed Ari out the doors, finding Clara already standing outside, I was awestruck by the newcomers.

Most of them were civilians or wanderers, dressed in dirty garb or working clothes, but at least four of them were military. They wore SWAT armor, jet black underclothes with navy blue Kevlar armor; a variety of military-grade assault rifles and SMGs were strapped to their backs, and each one had a belt with several different utility tools, including grenades. There was also a troop transport truck, or an APC, parked behind the various trucks and convertibles jumbled randomly on the street, each outfitted with its own unique touch. The APC was the thing that amazed me the most; it was an armored beast, with an Mk18 grenade launcher attached to the roof, with another armed soldier operating it. All in all, there must've been at least thirty people assembled there, and I hoped to Notch that they weren't hostile.

"Well…we are becoming the center of attention in this town," Ari remarked, as a clean-cut, well-dressed man stepped forward from the crowd. He wore thick glasses, businesswear and a clean tie, giving the appearance of a pre-apocalypse office worker or secretary. He extended a seemingly friendly hand to Ari, who refused.

"Your business, please," Ari asked, eyeing the stranger wearily.

"Ah…I'm sorry. I should've assumed that you would expect me to be hostile. Fear not, my friend…I do not have harmful intentions."

I would have been suspicious of him, had it not been for his clear, angelic tone. His voice was not high by any means, but he possessed a certain innocent air about him that dispelled any suspicions brought on by his slick talk.

"How can I trust you?" Ari snorted, folding his arms. "How do I know you're not another group of street scum trying to force supplies out of us?"

The man looked like he took offense to that. He opened up his arms to encompass the entire collective behind him.

"Do we look like street scum to _you_?"

Ari wasn't convinced. The man kept talking, nevertheless.

"I assure you that we are not your average street scum. I'm afraid I haven't introduced myself very well…my name is Liam Caldwell. _Doctor_ Liam Caldwell." He put emphasis on being called a doctor.

"You're a doctor?" Ari asked, his eyebrow rising in suspicion.

"A bachelor's degree in physics, my friend. I can tell you still don't trust me; I'm afraid that trust is a luxury none of us can afford anymore. What a shame."

Dr. Caldwell shook his head for dramatic effect. Ari still wasn't persuaded, although he seemed more relaxed now.

"Now…we seem to be on mutually friendly terms. Please, introduce yourself," Caldwell asked kindly, extending his hand again. This time, Ari accepted, shaking it lightly.

"Ari Kulovka…we're all just trying to survive here. Eighteen-strong."

Dr. Caldwell seemed pleased.

"A noble ambition, trying to maintain an honest standard of living in a world where honesty is buried beneath layers of greed and lies. It is good to meet another group of survivors in Langsford Peak."

Dr. Caldwell spoke like a salesman, trying to impress Ari with compliments, but I couldn't help but trust him. He dressed nicely, he spoke gently and had an optimistic tone, and he reminded me of my own father.

"So…this is your stronghold?" Caldwell asked, looking up at the massive hulk of brick.

"Only the lobby and top two floors. We don't have need of anything else," Ari answered.

"So—"

"And where do you come from?" Ari asked. Caldwell seemed taken aback momentarily, having been interrupted, but he cleared his throat and answered the question.

"We hail from the river, in a manner of speaking. My people live inside the military submarine _Capricorn_, all living inside the ship and in the area surrounding it. Are you familiar with the name?"

Ari nodded; the _Capricorn _was famous simply for existing. As the first experimental fusion-powered warship, it was famous for being an enormous breakthrough in military science, and had been docked in the Langsford Harbor for repairs when the "apocalypse" began.

"It is docked there, right where the military left it when they ran out on us. They just left it floating in the river, attached to its mooring posts, so some of us refurbished it, brought other refugees, and eventually built around it. We live both within and without the submarine."

"How many do you have?" Ari asked.

"Nearly four hundred. Three hundred civilians, fifty crew and fifty military personnel."

Military personnel…now that intrigued me. It also intrigued Ari as well; I noticed his eyebrows rise noticeably.

Caldwell took a deep breath, staring at his feet as if contemplating something, hiding his features.

"I know you cannot trust me completely. And I cannot trust you…it is a shame that we cannot share that bond. Therefore, I propose we make a deal with one another."

I could tell Ari wasn't pleased, but he allowed Caldwell to continue.

"I want one of your men to come with me, to see our stronghold for himself—"

"Absolutely not. I hardly know you, Dr. Caldwell, and I cannot—"

"You did not let me finish," Dr. Caldwell interrupted Ari, who had rejected the offer firmly. "You send one of your men over, and I leave two of mine here. Hostages…in a manner of speaking. To guarantee mutual trust and safety."

I saw several of the men behind Caldwell exchange nervous looks; I was about to give my opinion on the matter, when Ari finally capitulated.

"Very well. I think that is a fair trade…Leon…"

He had chosen me; I nodded my approval, coming to the side of Dr. Caldwell as he ordered two of his soldiers over to Ari.

"We will be back before sundown, Mr. Kulovka. And I do hope we will have business together in the future."

Dr. Caldwell ushered me into one of the civilian trucks as the rest of his crew saddled up for the ride. I decided to close my eyes and lay back against the plush leather seat, as the engine began to roar and the cohort of vehicles began to pull away from my stronghold.

xXXXXXXXXXXXXXx

No doubt, I was impressed with Caldwell's community. He had not been lying about a single thing; as we approached the dockyards, I could already see the smoke rising from the waterline. There were several fires from forges and pits, some of them for cooking and others for smelting. On one of the concrete tarmacs multitudes of vehicles were parked, a few of them military APCs and patrol buggies. The massive, 500-foot long submarine was half submerged in the murky brown waters of the river, a hodgepodge of woodwork encasing it, much like the Brotherhood's cistern outpost. The entrance hatches were guarded well, and I could see at least two large apertures cut into the hull of the submarine, obviously opened up by the survivors. The shadow of Langsford Peak was over us for most of the journey, but by the time we had reached the docks we were receiving as much light as possible.

After my arrival, Dr. Caldwell had given me a personal tour of the entire ship. Much of it had been retrofitted for civilians; the torpedo bays were emptied, and filled with quarters. The jail cell had been converted into a storage unit for weapons and ammo, and the main operating space had been turned into a communal gathering area, save for some key instruments required for operating the submarine's systems.

After two hours, Caldwell finally sat me down in his private quarters next to the generator room and poured me a generous cup of tea.

"So…your thoughts?"

He poured himself a steaming cup of brew, awaiting my answer.

"It's…er…amazing…"

"Amazing?"

"The whole thing…the ship, I mean…"

Caldwell laughed heartily, sitting down beside me. There was a window in the quarters, open to the generator room. The generator was relatively large, a massive cube of steel and titanium with small control panels all over it and a dim, pulsing blue light glowing at the top.

"Yes, we've made quite a niche for ourselves…very lucky to be here, very lucky indeed…"

"How did you come to be here, Dr. Caldwell?" I asked him, sipping from the tea cup. The Doctor's smile faded a little; he was still watching the generator, as if entranced by it.

"I came here…a poor refugee from the northern taiga, coming down south on the major highways. I was…underfed, and dying of pneumonia, when some naval officers found me and took me onto the Capricorn…they seemed to vest a lot of trust in me, making me first officer…"

"First officer?"

"Yes…the head officer died about three days after I arrived, and the crew had no choice but to institute me as head officer. A pity, really…he was a strong man, a good leader…"

I didn't like the darkness in his eyes; his pupils seemed to contract, and his face darkened. He was whispering the last part, his sentence falling off as he vaguely muttered to himself.

"I wish I had not been parted with my coworker."

"Who was that?" I asked nonchalantly, downing the rest of my beverage.

"He went by the name of Elias Kagsttrom…a wonderful mind, that of a genius. A genius, but a mad one. He always had the most brilliant but twisted ideas."

_Kagsttrom…_

"We separated at Northpoint…we both went south, but we took different routes. That was the last time I saw him…"

His words were sharp with poignancy, and mournful at the loss of his companion, but I could sense something else there too. Something dark, menacing, as if he shared a deep hatred for Kagsttrom as well as brotherly love.

_Kagsttrom…_

The same man who had written that letter, the same man I found dead in the east.

"I…think I might've found him…"

Caldwell jumped a foot in the air; his gloominess was dispersed, and he almost grabbed me by the lapels in his excitement.

"You know where he is? How did you find him? How do you know?"

"He…had a nametag on his shirt…I found him out in the east—" I tried to answer, holding Dr. Caldwell's ecstatic hands at bay.

"—then I must find him at once—"

"He's dead, Dr. Caldwell." My voice crushed every hope he had; I could see the fire in his eyes die down immediately. He cleared his throat.

"Ah…I'm sorry…I apologize for that…I didn't—"

"I'm sorry for your loss. He had been dead for quite some time."

I saw those conflicting emotions in his eyes again; I could see the sorrow, that gray darkness, but I could also see red fire and black hatred, as if he couldn't decide how to feel about Elias Kagsttrom.

Dr. Caldwell sighed, straightening out his clean work shirt where it had become crinkled. He sat back down in his chair, dejectedly drinking the last of his tea.

"There was…one more thing. I wanted to talk about this to your leader, Mr. Kulovka, but…I think that you may want to hear it as well."

"I'm listening, then," I said politely.

"There is a war brewing, here in Langsford Peak…one might argue that it has already started," Caldwell spoke, watching the generator again.

"You talk about the Brotherhood," I said matter-of-factly.

"They call themselves the Langsford Brotherhood…I don't mind religion, but they take zealotry to a new level with their 'caste system'."

This was entirely news to me; Caldwell was apparently reading my mind, because he began to explain it almost instantly.

"They put women on the bottom…sex slaves, objects of humiliation and torture…terrible things, not only women but men as well, those who are their enemies…then the caste goes up, including soldiers and captains, all the way up to the damned devil himself," Caldwell spat. He reached over to his nearby desk and produced a dossier, out of which spilled a map and several documents.

"Do you know his name?" I asked. He shook his head.

"They call him the Almighty Savior…total bullshit, of course, he's a monster and a madman who's attracted fools to his cause with power. But he's dangerous, and he commands an army of hundreds, maybe even thousands…"

"It can't be that big," I scoffed, but was immediately given a rebuttal. The map had multiple markings on it; each X marked a Brotherhood outpost, and there were at least two dozen on the northeast side of town.

"You underestimate them…that's a dangerous mistake. They may lack common sense, and we may outgun them, but they've got numbers and a rigid hierarchy on their side. The soldiers are martyrs…they'd die for their leader, and that makes them that much more dangerous."

The Brotherhood had already proven their fighting skill; although we had taken them off-guard before, they were quick to bounce back, and could've easily killed one of us in the raid if not for sheer luck.

"We've already attacked them…they provoked us actually, but we retaliated pretty heavily."

"How so?" Caldwell asked, interested; I could tell he was looking to make an ally of my community.

"We killed about forty of them in one of the cisterns…Midland Children's Hospital…" I murmured, trying to find the spot on the map. It was one of the closest X's to our stronghold, which I identified by being right on the corner of two intersecting streets, which I was familiar with.

"They won't be gone, but that's good news…no wonder they were in such a state of panic the other night…"

He scanned the map once more, leaning back in his chair and twiddling his fingers absentmindedly.

"There are so many of them…"

My finger glided over the map from outpost to outpost, following them. Each one had numerical markings by it; I assume those were estimates of the number of soldiers stationed there.

"We've been scouting them out ever since we got set up here…it's incredible, how they established this entire complex in roughly a month. We assume that it had its basis in a street gang before everything fell apart; that might explain the underground outposts."

He was tracing the outposts as well, making small marks on the map; I assumed that the circles represented his own outposts.

"They're cowards, night-dwellers…they will never attack at day, too risky. We outgun them, and a straight-up attack would cost them dearly. So they ambush our caravans and patrols, try to bleed us dry."

He fell silent.

"I will escort you back home with some of my men…I must talk to Mr. Kulovka about solidifying an alliance with your people. If you are hostile to the Brotherhood, then you're better off sticking with us," Caldwell spoke.

"I would agree to it, but I am in no position to make such a deal," I tried to assuage Caldwell's concern.

"I understand…you seem very trustworthy, Mr. Walker, and I assure you that you can trust us just as well. We fight a common enemy."

As he rose to lead me out, I had one final question.

"There's a storm coming, isn't there?"

Caldwell hesitated for a moment, but kept his back turned to me.

"I fear that it is already here," he answered grimly. I knew that war was upon us now; Ari would have to make a choice, and as we left the humming generator behind, I prayed that he would make the right decision.

**We have another OC submission chance here! First off, if you've already submitted an OC, I will not choose yours again. You are welcome to put in your ideas, but since you've already had a submission, yours will not be chosen. These OCs will be people on the Capricorn, and I will need about three to four. If there are more than that, I will choose the best ones that I receive. **

**Review, subscribe, and if you wish create your own OC! I will take submissions for at least two days. **


	18. The Price We Pay

**Hello internet! Few of you probably noticed, but I haven't updated in a lengthy time because my internet modem failed and I was basically stuck watching the entirety of Breaking Bad because I had no internet and it's **_**bloody **_**hot outside. So, yes, I was bored. I was able to access the computer at the public library, but there's only so much that a Windows 98 system can do. So, long story short, I'm back, and I've considered the OCs, and chosen four of the best—so congratulations. To those of you I snubbed, nothing personal; I'm not insulting you by choosing other people, I just found others to be either more in-depth or more interesting. And to those of you who were chosen, props to you, and I will tell you the same thing I've told other people: your character will never be safe. I won't go on a killing frenzy, but there's always danger, and I can't have a dozen OCs running around. But, anyway, after what seemed like a horribly long wait (at least to me), here's the next chapter. **

**Also, this chapter gets a bit visceral. It's pretty graphic, so I figure I'd warn anybody who has an aversion to blood and gore. But whatever. Enjoy!**

Dr. Caldwell escorted me to the vehicle pool, where an APC and two trucks were gassing up. The trucks were beaten and worn, old civilian models used to haul heavy loads, but the APC was shiny and looked like it had just come off the assembly line. It was jet black, besides the white numbers painted on it, and was outfitted with an Mk18 grenade launcher on top, manned by what I assumed to be a trained soldier.

"We're not expecting any particular danger, but it's unwise to assume anything in these dangerous times," Caldwell sputtered as he heaved a sack of what I assumed was rice into the back of the APC. I saw several people in there; the ones that stood out the most was the dude with the shades and the claymore sword, and the small mousy girl in the heavy trench coat farthest away from me.

"Joseph, take the truck, I want eyes on, look alive," Caldwell ordered, as a broad man with a M95 heavy sniper rifle and heavy SWAT gear sauntered past me, leaping up into one of the civilian trucks with surprising agility and taking a seat in the bed.

"Hop in, Leon. We'll be there in no time," Caldwell offered. I clambered up into the bay of the APC, lit only by dim red LED lights on the ceiling. As soon as the doctor sealed the back hatch, it felt like I had been shut inside a steel coffin. The lights were little help; they only made the space feel more eerie, more alien.

There were five of us in there; Caldwell, me, the small woman in the back, the chap with the sunglasses, and someone else in typical SWAT armor. We were packed in with sacks of potatoes and rice, crates of 5.56 and 9mm rounds, and several canisters of pure gasoline. Caldwell had been kind enough to provide us with everything we needed to continue surviving; even still, he would have a hard time convincing Ari to join him.

"I suppose I should introduce my team to you. This is my personal squad, some of my best soldiers…each of them have some unique trait that I find most useful."

Caldwell motioned to the woman in the corner, who was hiding everything but her eyes and watching me suspiciously, as if she expected me to make a sudden move.

"She never told me her true name, but we all call her 'Mouse'…very reminiscent of one."

'Mouse' was staring daggers at Caldwell, and I could instantly tell that she had an icy personality.

"She's a genius…got the brain of a mad scientist, she does. She'll put something together out of the strangest materials, and some of her ideas were incredibly useful…"

As if on cue, Mouse pulled her sleeve back to reveal a small weapon attached to her wrist. It was like a bracelet combined with a crossbow, sort of; it looked like it was automatic, triggered by a simple twitch of the middle and ring finger, and I could see at least sixteen tiny darts, each of which had a tiny iron point.

"She calls it Sting. It's a wonderful device, especially in the sewers where space is tight…silent, deadly, and only requires wood, iron, and some monkshood…the aconite from the leaves will kill a man in less than half an hour, if the dart isn't fatal," Caldwell explained.

"Aim for the throat," Mouse whispered, barely audible; I could tell she was an expert at this, having designed it. I figured it would be wise to stay on her good side.

"Mr. Greenwell was a mercenary, back when Northdownshire was basically at war," Caldwell moved on to the man with the shades, as Mouse retreated to the safety of her trench coat again, buttoning up her sleeve.

"Wasn't really at war…"

"Those gangs were as close to war as they'd ever be. If you could get high on it, they'd fight over it; bath salts, glowstone powder, creeper dust, marijuana…it was a war in everything but name."

Caldwell decided it was beside the point, and continued introducing Greenwell to me.

"Lance fought up there before trying to settle down. Never spoke much about his life, kinda like Mouse, but we found him with some kid about ten miles north of the city, fighting off raiders. He owes the _Capricorn_ his life."

Lance said nothing, simply bowed his head. He kept his sunglasses over his eyes, which hindered a strong understanding of his emotions.

"And this is Darius," Caldwell motioned to the last guy, the one in the SWAT armor. In the dim light, I hadn't noticed his eyepatch; it blended in with the black helmet he wore, but now I finally noticed it.

"Lost his eye—"

"To raiders, up north during the gang wars. Gangbangers took my parents with them, and blew out my fucking eye before I got away. I wish I could've killed more of them…"

I could tell he was handling his anger; his voice, though muffled by his helmet, was calm as he spoke about the death of his parents. Nevertheless, I noticed his gloved fists clenched, holding an Anaconda revolver tightly.

"We've all got our past…terrible things, dark days, even before the chaos. But we're held together by our common good, as civilized people—"

Something heavy slammed into the APC with a loud, dull thud that sounded more like a concrete block that an explosive; however, I knew that a concrete block wouldn't have that much force. The APC almost immediately rolled over, knocked down by the sheer force of whatever had hit us. Darius fell on top of me, his revolver flying through the air and hitting Caldwell square on the head. I could see Lance thrown against the wall, and Mouse steadying herself against the corner as the APC hit the street hard on its side and shook. I could smell smoke; I tried to shift Darius off me, but he was too heavy with all of the armor on. He wasn't moving, but I could still feel his chest heaving, and I knew he wasn't unconscious. I could tell Mouse was alright, having supported herself against the corner during the tumble, but I couldn't see Caldwell or Lance stirring, and I knew we were under attack.

My head spinning like a top, I finally managed to wedge myself into a gap beneath Darius' chest and slip out from underneath him, crushing several potatoes underfoot. The Anaconda was the closest weapon to me, lying beside the unmoving figure of Dr. Caldwell, and I immediately grabbed for it, reaching over Darius' back and grasping the weapon by its handle. Outside, I could hear gunfire, and shouts, and the greasy, nauseating smell of burning gasoline permeated the darkened interior of the APC.

Desperate to get out, feeling increasingly claustrophobic in the dark, smoky space, I threw all of my might into kicking the back hatch open. Weakened by the explosion and the roll, it came off its hinges almost immediately, revealing a man with a large RPG standing right in front of the door, preparing to pull the trigger.

My instincts, honed to a razor's edge ever since the apocalypse, were faster than his. I raised the Anaconda and pulled the trigger before the raider even realized the door was off. My aim, however, was slightly off; the gun flew back, almost out of my hand, and the bullet tore right through his shoulder, leaving his arm hanging like a ragdoll's at his side, attached to his shoulder by a little bit of sinew and muscle. The RPG dropped instantly, as his arm went limp without its nerve connections; the raider was completely bemused, taking a few seconds to realize that he was without an arm. As he gazed at the gleaming muscle exposed in his shoulder, I finished the job with a clean headshot, my head still swimming and my stomach pounding.

I stumbled out of the wrecked APC, clutching my head with one hand and the Anaconda with the other. There was a massive crater in the exposed side of the APC, smoking and burning slightly; I assumed that the dead man lying at my feet had been the one who fired first. As gunfire erupted all around me and several bullets pinged off of the APC's damaged hull, I sought cover in some dying shrubs nearby, almost tripping over the sidewalk and literally falling into the bushes.

I retched, vomiting profusely into the pile of decaying leaves at the base of the nearest bush. Some of it dribbled down my mouth and stained the collar of my shirt, but I could care less; as I retched again, feeling my stomach rebel as my head stopped spinning, I fired off several rounds as bullets hit the bush and the dirt around it; someone had seen me, and was attempting to get off several shots. We both missed; I had no chance of hitting whoever was shooting at me, as I was firing wildly while recovering from my nausea.

The bullets had stopped, at least from my shooter; I could feel the adrenaline now, could feel my head recovering and my coordination returning. I leapt up from my hiding spot, hoping to find somewhere where I could find real cover and maybe another weapon; I had only one shot left in the revolver, and I had failed to find any extra rounds for it.

The gun battle was still raging on the street; one of the trucks was ablaze, pillars of black smoke lofting above it, and the other one was coming under fire from hedgerows on the opposite side of the street. I could see several bodies, and recognized some of them as Brotherhood soldiers; a few of them wore SWAT armor.

The man with the sniper rifle, who was crouching behind the second truck, noticed me; as I had my weapon lowered, he assumed I was friendly, although he raised his weapon before realizing that I had no hostile intentions. I wanted to head over to his position, but I decided that the bulkhead of the APC would be the safest place to hide currently.

The gunfire was slowly dying down; in a few moments, I realized that it was over. I wiped sweat and vomit from my chin before rising up from my hiding spot, standing behind the overturned APC. The entire street was a mess; the pickup truck was still burning, the crater in the APC was smoldering, and I could see at least a dozen corpses scattered around the area, most of them Brotherhood bodies. I could see at least five of our dead, two of them just charred skeletons in the pickup truck. Three others lay sprawled around the scene, their blood barely visible against the blacktop.

"Holy crap…that just happened," I heard from behind me.

Mouse was stumbling out of the APC, shaken but unharmed. She was dragging the limp figure of Dr. Caldwell, laying him flat on the nearby sidewalk as Lance stumbled out, gripping the hull of the vehicle to support himself.

"We were attacked," I gasped, sitting down against the bulkhead.

"No shit we were attacked. This isn't like the Brotherhood…they're never this daring," Mouse muttered as she held Caldwell's head. He was coming back to consciousness, groaning and gripping his forehead.

"We've got five down for sure, three more wounded," the sniper reported, setting his rifle against the APC and stumbling over to us. He was shaken, but was still calm, stepping in small puddles of blood as he walked.

"That's too much," Mouse sighed, sitting down on the sidewalk next to Caldwell. Several men in SWAT armor were retrieving their friends' corpses and setting them in a row, along with their weapons.

"I'm honestly amazed they attacked at daylight. It's not like the Brotherhood," the sniper said, standing over Caldwell, who was muttering something about his head.

"No, it's not…you've got a nasty bruise, Doc…at least it's not a concussion," Mouse reassured him. He did have a growing welt on the side of his head, purplish and rough.

Mouse turned from Caldwell, and around to me. Her narrow gray eyes found mine, and I just then realized that she was albino; her skin was milky white, hidden by the cowl of the trench coat, and her eyes were a light tint of gray.

"It's something about him—"

"Let's not start playing the blame game here," the sniper, who I remembered was Joseph, warned the small woman. She hesitated before sitting back down on the sidewalk, fiddling with the small device on her wrist.

"Leon…you okay?" I heard a rough voice, and realized that Caldwell was speaking to me.

"Yeah…I'm fine."

"We'll get you back…guess we're walking," Caldwell said, and forced a laugh that sounded painful, as if his airways were constricted.

"One truck's still operational—"

"Take that back to the Capricorn; let them know we were attacked. The rest of us can hack it from here," Caldwell ordered, rising once again. There was blood and dirt on his clothing, but he was relatively unscathed. Darius was still holding his head, sitting against the hull of the wrecked APC. I handed the Anaconda back to him.

"It's only got one round left, sorry," I apologized for using his ammo. He took it gratefully, holstering it by his hip.

"Not a problem. At least you used it well," he said dryly, glancing down at the armless, decapitated corpse sprawled beside the blasted hatch of the vehicle.

xXXXXXXXXXXXx

Ari was relieved that we had arrived safely; or, at least I had. He showed little concern for the Capricorn men who had been killed in the ambush, even though Dr. Caldwell filled him in on the events that had transpired during our return trip.

It was getting dark now; although it made little difference in the light; the little warmth that daytime provided was dissipating, replaced by a stiff chill aided by the cloud cover.

"So…Mr. Kulovka. Have you made your decision yet?"

I had related everything I had seen aboard the Capricorn to Ari, who seemed pleased to hear it from a trustworthy eyewitness source. Now, standing on the sidewalk before the apartment building, illuminated by the lobby lights, we waited to hear his answer. Whatever it may be, it would change the fate of everyone in our stronghold.

"I have."

"Have you accepted our offer?" the Doctor asked.

His fists were clenched; I could see small beads of sweat running down his face and staining his limp collar.

"I have."

"Then we will regard you as one of us. You are our ally now, and shall be treated as such," Caldwell answered. The relief in his voice was palpable; we would reinforce the southern flank of Capricorn territory, become a beacon of light in a dark city. We would stand against the Brotherhood, and fight for freedom. But the cost would be great.

"You are now officially at war with the Brotherhood. They will learn about this, and they will show no mercy," Caldwell warned as two trucks roared up the street and came to a halt near the sidewalk. His troops began to pile into the beds.

"Such is the price we pay," Ari replied, his voice barely a murmur above the roaring of engines. The trucks pulled away, leaving nobody behind except Ari and me, standing on the curb. As I stalked inside, exhausted, I could hear him muttering again.

"Such is the price we pay."


	19. Cooperation

**A/N: I have to say this. I despise my very bland profile name. I came up with it in a hurry when I first made my profile. So, I hate it because I couldn't think of anything else. Oh well. Had to get that out.**

"_Does he know about us?"_

"_No…I don't think so. There's no sign of it…"_

"_But he can hear us, right?"_

"_Possibly. I…I can't be sure. It's hard for me to tell whether or not he receives these messages. He must receive them eventually."_

"_Eventually? Why not now?"_

"_It's not important yet. When the time comes…"_

"_You never tell me anything…when will that be, brother?"_

"_Soon."_

I woke up with the sudden urge to vomit; the burning sensation slowly dissipated, and I decided that I was not sick, simply terrified of my nightmare. It was just a black void, and the voices, speaking; sometimes it was gibberish, unintelligible, and other times I could clearly pick out every word they spoke. It was so cold too; when I woke up, I could feel something cold pressing against me, and realized that my comforter was on the floor, rolled up in a bundle.

"Leon…are you okay?"

Celine's soft, wispy voice was a comfort after my sudden rise from the nightmare. I ushered her inside; despite having just woken up, she was wearing thick woolen pajamas, and I assumed that she had worn them to bed.

She closed the door gently behind her and sat on the bedside.

"You were making quite a fuss in here…you weren't shouting, but it was audible. Are you okay?" she reiterated.

"Yeah…I'm fine…"

"Are you hearing voices again?"

This was only the second time we had spoken about the voices I was hearing; I had tried to ignore them, even when they were extremely clear, and decided it was best to pretend they didn't exist.

"I keep hearing them, every night. It's like…I'm going insane or something…"

Celine wrapped her arms around my waist and pulled me into a comforting hug.

"You're not going insane…you're just under a lot of stress," she reassured me. Her bright eyes had a reassuring aura about them, as if they were saying that everything would be alright.

"You sound so sure of yourself—"

"Whatever these voices are, it's just in your head. You're not going insane, and I know it. You are a perfectly healthy young man, and you're mentally sound," Celine spoke, her voice rigid. I decided that it was pointless to pursue the argument anymore, and I collapsed down on the bed, pulling her with me.

We lay together in bed for some time, without the comforter; it was still down on the floor, looking rather crumpled and dejected. Neither of us could sleep for some reason; I knew there was something troubling her, just like me, but I decided not to ask about it. After some time, she rose, retrieved the comforter and sheets, and lay them back on the bed, rather messily.

"I'm concerned about Ari," she spoke as she threw the heavy comforter over the bed, covering most of my body.

"Is this about—"

"The Capricorn thing? I'm guessing so," Celine finished. She removed her maroon pajamas, and tossed them into one of the corners. Though not necessarily indecent, her dark grey lingerie was by no means modest, and I turned away to avoid seeing her half-naked, out of simple discretion.

"If you ask me, he made the right choice," I said, turned to the other side of the bed. She slipped in right beside me, pulling the comforter up over us.

"Well…I agree that it was the best choice. But at what cost?"

"That's what must be bothering him."

"He's always put the community first," Celine replied, wrapping her arms around me once more. "He's the best leader for us."

She fell silent, laying her head on the pillow next to mine. In a few minutes, warmed by the bedclothes, I fell quiet as well, drifting into a deep, seemingly endless sleep.

"_I'm almost positive he can hear us, brother."_

"_How can you be so certain?"_

"_The way he reacts…I've been watching him, as you've asked, and every time he hears us in his dreams, he wakes up, as if a terrible nightmare startled him…"_

"_If he can hear us…"_

"_There's no point in hiding anything, then. Is there?"_

"_I cannot tell him everything. It would be too much for him, too much for so little time…Leon, if you can hear me, understand that you are being watched. Think of him as a guardian angel…someone who is looking over you."_

"_I have been looking over him ever since he arrived. As you have asked."_

"_And you have done a good job. That is all he needs to know for now…"_

I woke up again, but I did not have the urge to purge myself again; rather, I felt quite calm, as if those voices had suddenly felt soothing. Someone was watching me…who? I had never felt like I was being watched, but the voices were all too clear.

Maybe it was all just my mind, maybe I was going insane. Or I was just under a lot of stress. I decided to try to ignore it, but those words were still haunting me as I rose out of bed and threw on old, ragged clothes.

"_If you can hear me, understand that you are being watched. Think of him as a guardian angel…someone who is looking over you."_

I shuddered to think that someone was stalking me; if there was somebody out there, watching me, they were doing a damn good job of staying hidden. Leaving Celine in bed, I ambled out of the room, rubbing the sleep away from my eyes, and took the stairs up to the top floor, eager for breakfast.

Our generator refilled with gasoline from the Capricorn's storage, Derek was able to cook actual breakfast once more, and this morning he had concocted his own scrambled egg recipe with oregano and a touch of vanilla. I gladly accepted my share and began to dig in, relishing the taste of fresh food.

Miguel and Rina were the only others in the room, sitting together on one of the balconies overlooking downtown. Miguel, who had his arm around Rina's waist, noticed me and smiled.

"Morning Leon," he called cheerfully. Rina turned around and, as usual, wore her same optimistic, enlightening smile. I had never seen that girl frown.

"Mind if I sit here?" I asked.

"No problem. We don't mind," he answered. He didn't speak to me, however, as all three of us sat on the balcony. I for one was studying the downtown area, gazing at the tall buildings rising above the urban trash below them. On the other hand, Miguel and Rina both had their eyes shut, leaning against the wall and cuddling one another, without regard to the world around them.

I was about to leave to allow them some private time, when a sudden, distant movement caught my eye. My attention shifted to a building about a mile away, a flat-topped office building, where several small, black figures stood out. They were there for just a few seconds, moving about on the roof, before disappearing back into the building through an access shaft. I was beginning to wonder whether or not my eyes were playing tricks on me; was I really going insane?

"Leon?"

Ari had lost his gruff tone this morning; his accent was softer, and he sounded ragged, exhausted, as if he had lost sleep. I assumed that Celine was right; he had been pondering the aftermath of his decision all of last night.

"You need me?" I asked concisely, setting my empty plate next to the sink to be washed.

"I'm sending you out to work with some of the Capricorn team today. Miguel, you too," Ari barked, noticing for the first time the couple on the balcony. Miguel, who had been in his own little world, jumped a bit at the mention of his name, and hustled up to me, trying to snap to attention. I noticed Rina giggling behind me as Miguel tripped slightly getting up.

"A Capricorn team?"

"They've got the same damn pipe dream as you, getting into that riverside industrial complex. Dr. Caldwell sent a messenger today, requesting you at the Gates Building by ten. He didn't tell me anything else…so you and Miguel are going out there today."

He didn't ask if there were any questions; he simply sent us off on our mission. Rina followed the two of us down to storage.

"Take the silenced ones, they're the best we've got," I instructed Miguel. He was reaching for one of the hunting rifles; he had used the silenced rifle before, but I could tell he felt some animosity towards it.

"Too much kick," he winced as he shouldered the assault rifle.

"Does more damage. Plus, no noise, much better than anything else we've got," I told him as I picked up mine. There was no arguing against the logic; we grabbed the rest of our gear, including food and rudimentary combat armor, and left the safety of the stronghold behind.

xXXXXXXXXXXXx

The clouds were still growing darker; the air was so choked with ash that we had to use flashlights as we walked down towards the Gates Building, one of the tallest buildings downtown.

"I'm on the fence about her," Miguel spoke after a good hour of walking in silence. The ash was deep on the street; the only sound was our feet padding through the thick layers.

"Rina?"

"Yeah…I just don't know…" Miguel spoke, looking at the ground as he walked.

"You love her, don't you?" I asked.

"Well, of course I love her…she's so beautiful, and she's perfect for me—"

"Then what's the problem?"

I was determined to get to the root of Miguel's problem; of all the men in Paul's gang, he was my favorite, due to his quiet and caring personality.

"It's Paul."

"He doesn't approve of it?" I ventured.

"He doesn't want me interacting too much with your community. He…still doesn't trust Ari, and that extends to everyone in Ari's group. He may live with you, but he thinks he's independent," Miguel explained.

"Did he say anything to you?"

"Not yet," Miguel said. "But I can tell he disapproves. I'm loyal to him…I owe my life to his group. But I can't just toss Rina aside like that…I love her, and it would break her heart…"

Miguel stopped talking after that, obviously deep in thought. I let the subject go and walked on in silence until we reached the perimeter of the Gates Building. It was _definitely _not a secret bunker or hidden base of any sort.

The perimeter was all around the block of the Gates Building, consisting of barbed wire and salvaged chain-link fencing. Crude gates made of various moving parts and corrugated metal were guarded by a mix of mall cops with handguns and SWAT troopers armed with heavy assault rifles and combat gear. As we approached the southern gate, several of the guards spotted us and raised their rifles, ordering us to drop our weapons. Miguel and I complied, setting the rifles down in the ash.

After a few moments, standing under the watchful vigil of the men above the gate, the doors opened, admitting several personnel out to greet us. I recognized one of them as Joseph, the sniper in the convoy yesterday.

"Leon Walker?" the man in the front of the group asked. He barely noticed Miguel standing beside me.

"Yes…"

"Nice of you to be punctual. Who is this?" the man asked, pointing with a gloved finger to Miguel.

"He's one of our guys, Miguel. He's fine," I added. The leader did not seem to trust Miguel, but he admitted us in to the compound, ordering the heavy gate closed behind us.

The Gates compound was buzzing with activity; at least four vehicles were parked in the regular parking lot, and a large conglomeration of boxes, crates and debris was piled up near the entrance. Maintenance workers, guards, scouts and regular civilians filled the compound, all going about their daily business in the darkness. There were lights everywhere; massive floodlights posted up on the walls, and makeshift streetlights attached to humming generators.

We were led inside the actual building, into a set of offices and bunkers. In one of the rooms, one of the largest, a massive paper map of Langsford Peak was sprawled out on a table, stapled down in the corners. We were led up to this map, which looked similar to the one Dr. Caldwell showed me yesterday.

"Dr. Caldwell spoke to me last night, and told me all about you Mr. Walker," the leader addressed me. "He said that you showed promise as a soldier, and asked that you work closely with my teams here in Langsford Peak."

The man's voice was gruff and brutal, and he seemed rather irritated to have a total stranger thrust into his command.

"I am Lieutenant Roger Corman…we're not formal around here, but I'd like you to refer to me as Lieutenant Corman." I nodded.

"Now…we have ourselves a bit of a situation here. Are you familiar with Riverside Industrial Park?" Corman asked. I jumped at the name; the lieutenant assumed that I was, because he continued on.

"We're trying to gain access there by means of the Bailey Mental Institution. There's an underground passageway underneath the Institution, designed for access to the park in case of emergencies…but we have a few problems."

I listened closely as Corman highlighted two areas of the map; one of them was about a mile north, close to the Capricorn, and another was on the far southern end of town.

"What's the southern part?"

"Beg your pardon?"

"I'm guessing this is the Mental Institution…but what's down here?" I asked, pointing to the small red circle on the southern end of the city.

"That…is our target. That's where we're sending you, at least to scout it out," Corman spoke. He moved down to the southern edge of the map.

"It's a government storage facility, relatively inconspicuous amongst the civilian storage lots. We're not sure what kind of locks or securities exist there, so you're only going to scout it out, and bring information back."

It seemed to me like a sound plan; but I was still curious.

"What is there, then? Is this just a scouting raid, or is there something there of interest?" I asked. Corman gave me the best answer he could.

"Well…it pertains to the Industrial Park. The entrance beneath Bailey is sealed with a massive door…we've been unable to break it, and we assume that it's made of bedrock smelted with steel."

"And?"

"Those government storage facilities are believed to hold several fusion charge packs, energy devices strong enough to power our mining laser. That's the only thing that can get through that security door, and we lack the space to install an actual generator down there."

"How can you be certain that there's a charge pack there?" I asked.

"We can't be sure. But it's a safe bet that there are some stored there, and if they don't have any, we can always scavenge the other supplies there. It'd be very useful to get ahold of some of that government equipment," Corman spoke.

It was a great risk, to go so far from friendly territory on a ghost chase. I was uneasy about the whole thing.

"There's no way we can dynamite that door—entire tunnel might collapse. We have the laser installed, but no way to get a generator up and running. So this entire operation depends on you, Mr. Walker, and the team I'm giving you."

"You're…giving me a team?"

"You'll be under the command of one of our senior officers. But you'll have a team with you." Corman waved one of the other black-clad men in the room over.

"Officer Gomez here will be with you; he lived down in the southern sections of Langsford Peak, and he knows the area well. He'll be leading the surface party."

It turned out that there would be a party traversing the underground as well, using the sewer lines to reach the storage area. Miguel and I were put together with Officer Gomez and some soldier named Wesley, and we were given additional ammunition and SWAT armor.

"The Brotherhood won't trouble you on the surface; it's unlikely."

"But—"

"Yes, I heard about yesterday. That was an anomaly…they've never had a surface attack on that scale," Corman waved it off. "Besides, you won't be attracting much attention. Cover your footprints, stay off the street, and you'll be fine."

Corman whispered something inaudible in Officer Gomez's ear as we left the Gates complex, and strolled to the gate. The sentries already had the heavy gate open, waiting for us to depart.

"You'll be there by dusk most likely. Keep in contact with command," Corman ordered, handing Gomez a walkie-talkie. "If something goes wrong, call us, and we can try to come and get you."

I tried hard not to scoff; if things did go wrong, we'd be dead before anyone could even find us. We were going out into unknown territory, past the petting zoo, past Belvedere Boulevard. I swallowed my fear, grasped my rifle, and left the warm lights of the Gates Complex behind.

"_If you can hear me, understand that you are being watched. Think of him as a guardian angel…someone who is looking over you."_

"_You are being watched."_


	20. Stealth Operations

Officer Gomez led the four of us down the sidewalk, into the rich neighborhood of Belvedere. Miguel and I were behind him, followed by Wesley and Captain Joseph Barcelona, the sniper. Each day was getting darker; for the sake of stealth, we had forgone flashlights, opting to use our own night vision. It was difficult, trying to see in the dark; Officer Gomez must've been able to see well, for he led us without stumbling or tripping once.

I couldn't shake the feeling that I _was _being watched, by whoever had spoken to me. I kept hearing rustling or crackling from behind me, and I kept seeing things dart around in my peripheral vision. I kept telling myself that it was all in my head; by the time we reached the southern edge of Belvedere and the buildings began to disappear, giving way to vacant lots, I had focused almost entirely on the mission at hand.

"There it is," Gomez spoke. For the first time, he took out his flashlight and shined the dim beam on a nearby metal sign. The paint on it was peeling, but the words "South Langsford Storage Center" were visible against a green background. Gomez almost immediately turned the flashlight off.

"We'll need these once we get inside. You got yours, captain?" Gomez asked, and was greeted with rattle from Joseph, who was shaking his.

"Good. We'll divide into teams once we get inside. There's no word yet from the underground team, so let's hope we can meet up with them."

Gomez ordered Wesley and I to go with Joseph, and took Miguel with him. The two disappeared around a massive, corrugated metal storage unit as our squad entered a labyrinth of units and lockers, all divided into massive rectangular shapes. Space was tight; I kept my ears open for the slightest noise, the slightest hint that we were being followed.

"Captain…I've got movement. One o'clock, by the empty trucks," Wesley whispered, pointing to a group of trucks set up in a line about two hundred feet in front of us. There, right beside one, barely visible, stood a silhouette, unarmed. He just stood there, looking out into the distance. Joseph raised his rifle, taking aim at the dark figure, but I shot up a hand.

"Wait…don't fire yet…"

"I've got a perfect shot—"

"He's unarmed…I don't think he's Brotherhood…"

He obviously couldn't hear us, either; we were close to him, and our voices had to carry over the silent lot, but he either ignored us or could not hear us at all.

"Who the hell…is this guy?" Joseph grunted, shifting to try to get a better look.

"I can't tell—"

At that second, the figure turned towards us, and noticed all three of us crouching beside one of the lockers. All I caught was a flash of white in his eyes before he disappeared behind the trucks. Wesley made a move to chase after the vanishing stranger, but Joseph restrained him.

"No…it's not worth it," Joseph argued, hauling Wesley back to the ground.

"Did you see those eyes though? What was that?" Wesley panted.

"A trick of the light," Joseph muttered back. "Let's get back to business."

It couldn't have been a trick of the light, unless someone else was shining light at the figure; I was incredibly unnerved now, afraid that this was the stranger that might be stalking me. My paranoia was growing more rampant.

We walked on, sticking close to the lockers. Twice we heard gunfire, too distant to be of any threat; Joseph said nothing about it, but Wesley mentioned that they were nomads raiding the edges of the city, going inside the urban areas only to loot supplies before fleeing back into the plains and forests.

"Could be anyone…it's none of our business," Joseph snapped, silencing us.

Again, we walked on, until I noticed something the others didn't. There was a locker door that stood out; instead of the usual gray, it was painted a dark red, as if it was designated as something special.

"This locker…it's not the same as the others," I mentioned before the two left me behind.

"What do you mean?"

"Different color…notice the door?" I said, and Joseph examined it closer. Apparently intrigued, he withdrew a pair of bolt cutters from his pack and chopped through the rusty bolt.

"Could be interesting, it's worth a look," he said as the iron chains fell with a clatter onto the ashy ground. He opened the door and shone his flashlight into the interior.

There wasn't much in there; definitely not the energy packs we were looking for. But I did notice something that interested me; I saw three fragmentation grenades lazily thrown into a cardboard box, which was sitting idly in a dusty corner. The box wasn't dusty, although the rest of the junk in the locker was; I figured that some survivor had thrown them in there during the chaos.

"Three grenades…this must be someone's hiding place," Wesley said, taking one of the frags.

"No use to them anymore. We might as well take them." I tossed the second grenade to Joseph, and kept the third for myself.

"Where—"

"Down…down!" Joseph hissed, shoving us into the locker. Wesley didn't try to speak again; Joseph was peering out of the unit, and I poked my head out only slightly, to get a glimpse of what he was trying to see.

There were two figures this time, and they were both armed. These were obviously Brotherhood; I could hear heavy voices, and some laughter from them. The light came from their flashlights; that was the only light in the complex, so we were well hidden.

"Those are Brotherhood, no doubt about it. They must've already been here…"

I heard a distant roaring, and pulled Joseph in as an ATV roared around the nearest corner, turning to the Brotherhood sentries. All three of us held our breath as we listened to them.

"—we found two, holed them up in the center—"

"What about the underground team? Did you take care of them?"

"Done and done. Our boys just got back, sir."

"Tell them to rendezvous with Henderson. They'll be easy to take care of once you're all there."

The ATV, which had been idling, roared again after a few seconds, and took off. The Brotherhood sentries did not come our way; rather, I looked out and saw their flashlights disappearing off into the distance, towards a large three-story building in what I assumed was the center of this facility.

"Damnit, this whole thing was a trap…they knew we were coming," Joseph cursed, peering out again before leaving the unit.

"At least they got away," I referred to Gomez and Miguel.

"They won't last long," Joseph scoffed. "Two of them against who knows how many Brotherhood grunts. And they took out McClellan's team in the sewers…"

As Joseph cursed under his breath, I tried to think of a solution to our problem. If they were posting more sentries, we would be found in a matter of time.

"There has to be a way out of this…"

"We need a radio, or some sort of communication device," I ventured. Joseph said nothing, so I continued to explain to him why.

"Gomez had our radio…we need to get in contact with command, tell them we're surrounded down here—"

"It would take them too long to reach us, even if we called right now. Even with vehicles, it would take a solid forty-five minutes to get them up and going and get them down here," Joseph argued.

"Do you have a better idea, then?"

Joseph winced, but said nothing. He didn't like the plan; but he could not offer any help.

"Well…where are you going to find a radio?" he asked. I hesitated for a moment…there had to be some place…

"Main maintenance office, perhaps?" Wesley ventured. He was still crouched in one of the corners.

"Maybe…but we don't know where that is."

"We'll find it," I said, trying to reassure the two of them. Wesley was enthusiastic to be out once more, but Joseph was still hesitant, and I could tell. Reluctantly, he was following me now, keeping his silenced sniper rifle raised and ready.

We walked on in total blackness, opting to stay stealthy rather than use the flashlight. Twice we saw Brotherhood soldiers patrolling idly, scanning the area with their flashlights. They did so to little effect; we were able to sneak past without consequence.

"There…that looks like the place," Joseph spoke, pointing ahead to a squat building. I wasn't sure how he could tell that it was the office block.

"How can you—"

"It's worth a look. It looks different from the storage units."

On examination, it did look like an office building; it had actual doors, as well as a few windows in the back. The door had been left open, I assume during the evacuations. However, as I began to creep inside, Joseph grabbed my shoulder roughly from behind and pulled me back.

"What the—"

"Tripwire…right there."

I don't know how he saw it; his night vision was impressive. The tiny wire was barely visible, illuminated by a small light inside, coming from a desk.

"Designed to trip you, not a trap…alert you to—"

Joseph froze. His reactions were lightning fast; the figure was a blur, leaping out of the interior of the office block, but Joseph was faster. As soon as I saw that figure, there was a pop, and the body flew backwards, hitting the wall.

The sentry inside had heard us, but had been too slow. Joseph's sniper rifle had nailed him; I avoided looking at the bloody, broken corpse as I gently stepped inside the building and examined the room. There were radios in there, along with several keys and a crate full of various clips of ammunition.

"There's 5.56 rounds in here, mostly…some slugs, some 9mm rounds…"

"Well, here's our radio, anyway," Wesley pointed out. There were three communications radios there; Joseph immediately identified them, and was relieved.

"We can contact command with these, the range is long enough. Wesley, get a line to Lieutenant Corman, tell him our situation," Joseph ordered.

"Yes sir—"

"Leon, help me salvage this back room for anything useful—"

A soft plunk interrupted us. Wesley, dead before he hit the ground, landing heavily on the floor. My first instinct was to dive, as several bullets embedded themselves in the wall where I had been standing a moment before.

I pushed Joseph out of the way, ramming us both into the nearest plaster wall. More bullets jammed into the wall where we had been standing.

"Another damn trap…either that or they were stalking us!" Joseph cursed, withdrawing his own 9mm pistol. The gunshots outside were loud and clear, not silenced; silent weapons were no longer required, and I took the dead grunt's assault rifle, as it had more power and distance than my silenced one did.

"I can see at least two out there…they've held their fire momentarily," Joseph whispered; he had poked his head out just barely. "Turn that lamp off…"

The moment I switched the desk lamp off, a hail of bullets slammed into the back wall and the desk. I shrunk back into the nearest corner, waiting for them to cease.

"On my count…pop out and fire a few rounds to your three o' clock," Joseph ordered as I shuffled to the corner opposite to him; he was on the right side of the tiny room, and I was on the left.

"How can you see—"

"Just barely. I know he's there…on my count…three…two…one…"

As he squeezed the trigger, I aimed to what I hoped was close enough to Joseph's target and popped three rounds off. I hit something squishy, assuming it was flesh; Joseph's rounds missed his target, and another hail of bullets greeted us.

"There's no way out back here," I told him, as I looked around and suddenly realized that we were trapped. The bullets were more consistent now, always three or four rounds hitting the back wall.

"We're like fish in a barrel…can you see anyone?"

I fired several shots out into the darkness; I couldn't tell if I had hit anyone or not, but I could hear cries nearby, and knew that my first shots had hit their mark.

Joseph fired again, firing wildly into the blackness. We couldn't tell who was hit; at least one of them was down, but we weren't sure. I heard soft footsteps coming closer, as if someone was trying to enter the building…

"Joseph, your flashlight…"

"They'll see us—"

"Just give it to me! Quick!"

He tossed the flashlight to me, and I acted on instinct; I directed the torch towards the door, flipped the switch, and illuminated the lone figure crouched before the entryway, clutching a grenade in one hand. In one swift motion, I raised my rifle in my empty hand and fired one clean shot at the grunt, dropping him and painting the ash beneath him crimson.

"He was going to toss a frag in," I said as more bullets hit.

"Duly noted…when you shone the light, I saw two more at twelve and two…you might be able to hit them—"

I popped off several shots, and hit at least one guy; I heard a distinct thump, and a cry of pain.

Something plinked off of the concrete floor of the entrance room; as I stuck my head around the corner, Joseph pushed me into the corner, leaping after me as the grenade went off.

Dust and debris sprayed through the door, stinging my exposed flesh. Pieces of shrapnel peppered the wall and desk, and one of them embedded itself in my shoe, going far enough to cut into my sock.

The blast cloud dissipated; Joseph was off of me, rushing through the doorway; I heard close gunfire, several bursts before everything was silent again. Grunting, I pulled the metal shard out of my shoe and tossed it aside, rising up to face the scene outside. Joseph was shining the light on five corpses, four of them splayed out around the building and the other one in the entryway. All of them were dead; in the chaos after the grenade exploded, Joseph took the opportunity to expend the rest of his handgun clip and take out the remaining soldiers, spotlighting them using the flashlight.

"You're bleeding," I said dryly, pointing to his leg; there was a piece of shrapnel in his thigh, just barely piercing the skin through the thick pants. Wincing, Joseph yanked it out and cast the bloody metal aside.

"It's nothing. The bleeding's minor," he dismissed the wound. We stumbled out of the office block, dazed, surrounded by bodies.

"They were waiting for us this whole damn time," Joseph cursed.

"I know, I know. But there's nothing we can do about it now…we need to get Gomez and Miguel out—"

"Where are they?"

I remembered overhearing the soldiers earlier, before Wesley was shot dead.

"Center building," I pointed up to the two-story building rise over the rest of the facility. "One of the grunts mentioned it."

"Alright…get everything you can off of Wesley's body, then let's go. We are running out of time."


	21. A Payment of Blood

**A/N: Ah, another one of these author's notes. How fantastic they are. I will, again, give shout-outs to everyone who has reviewed or sent me PMs regarding the story, and everyone who has given constructive criticism. Also, the chapters after this will be shifting more towards war and action, so I'm going to try to keep the blood and gore to a T level. It won't be too extreme…depends on your definition of extreme.**

The man opened like a ripe fruit; his flesh split easily, torn apart by the combat knife. Without another thought, I threw the lifeless body to the ground, spilling more blood than I needed to. Some of it spilled on my pants, but I ignored it; I already had blood on me from our earlier engagement, and Joseph and I were running out of time.

Miguel and Officer Gomez, if they weren't dead already, were inside the main storage complex, a wide two-story building in the center of the storage facility. We were working against time to try to free them; to make matters worse, the Brotherhood knew we were here. Stealth could only do so much; the silenced weapons and knife did a lot more.

I could see Joseph's silhouette race between buildings, outlined just barely by one of the large lights in front of the building's main entrance. There were three Brotherhood soldiers by the entrance, each gathered around a radio set, listening intently. I smelled smoke, coming from somewhere far away; I ignored it, as it was too distant to be any problem or concern whatsoever.

Joseph pulled off the first shot; the grunt went down immediately, his head smashing into the radio set as he fell face-first into the ash. The other two were quick to react, but not quick enough; two shots each from my rifle, and they joined their companion in the gray dust that covered the ground like polluted snow.

"Contact, left side!" Joseph yelled, and his cry brought a hail of bullets from the left side of the building. I could see shapes moving in the darkness, barely illuminated; I took shots at a few of them, and hit at least one of the grunts, knocking him flat on his back.

_Take cover, take cover_, my brain hissed as bullets bounced off the nearest storage unit. I fired off several more shots, the silenced rifle popping with each round. Joseph's silenced sniper was barely audible over the grunts, who had swapped any silenced weapons they had for more powerful rifles. That gave them the disadvantage; they could not pick our positions out simply by triangulating the position by listening to gunfire. We were at liberty to pick them off, as their shots were going off wildly. I picked off another one of them, and Joseph took out the last. Their bodies were now just shapes sprawled out in the ash, indistinguishable from each other.

_I've killed ten tonight then. _

Joseph stalked out of the shadows, staying crouched until he made sure that there were no more of them.

"We'll take separate entrances. They're still confused, so we'll be able to get the jump on them once we get inside. Keep an eye out for me, alright?"

Joseph tapped me gently on the shoulder before sprinting down the left side of the building, disappearing into the darkness.

I was all alone now; I could hear shouting in the distance, and felt the earth shake just a tiny bit. I could smell more smoke now, and realized that somewhere, something was terribly wrong. I decided that the front entrance would be my best bet; I didn't want to go running off into the darkness, for fear of becoming lost in the labyrinth. Gently, pushing aside some of the bloodied bodies, I stepped up to the main door, which was unlocked, and nudged it open.

It opened silently into a dim, empty hall lined with lockers. There was one small fluorescent light overhead that was fizzling out, illuminating hardly anything. I could hear voices; panicked, excited, ecstatic, angry. A medley of emotions and sounds, making me nervous; I slipped down the hallway, avoiding some piles of broken glass randomly scattered around, and stopped when I heard a voice coming from a nearby room.

"—tell me what happened, I can't under—"

"The whole fucking thing just went up in flames, the building's on fire, everything—"

"How? How did you—"

"I don't know, I don't know, the safety valves were all on, the pipes were sealed, there were no leaks…we've got fifty unaccounted for, and twelve for sure dead—"

I popped around the corner and threw my knife rather clumsily at the Brotherhood officer standing at the radio. It was a poor shot, thrown with poor form, but it hit its mark; the officer, hearing a sudden swish, turned around to face me and received the combat knife directly in the eye. The heavy combat knife threw him backwards, and he collapsed against the wall before slumping to the ground, dead.

"—are you there? Captain? Jesus, we need medical supplies and backup here, immediately!"

The radio cut out, the panicked man's voice disappearing. I knew where I had smelled smoke from; wherever the fire was, it was causing the Brotherhood a great deal of trouble.

All the better for me; I wondered how Joseph was doing, trying to infiltrate the building from another entrance; I crept out of the room, entering a smaller side hallway; all entrances seemed to lead to a large, circular central room that was dug into the basement of the building. The voices were coming from there; there were several men down there, raucous, excited shouts mixed with hushed, worried voices, audible even over the din of the others.

I shuffled down the hallway, armed with only the combat knife, deciding to forgo the rifle for now; in these close quarters, it would be noticeable even if it were silenced. I held the knife parallel to my arm, feeling my way along the wall down the unlit corridor.

There were three men standing at the end, overlooking the circular room; one voice stood out just barely above the others, but even while listening intently I could not decipher any words from it. I slipped into an adjacent storage room, which had a set of stairs leading down.

_Basement access? What a lucky break_, I thought as I slipped down into the basement; so far, everything was going relatively smoothly. I hadn't given a thought to getting out of the facility; the patrols knew we were out and about, and it was only a matter of minutes before they tracked us to the main building.

The basement was even darker, lit only by the main room's lights, which were down a pitch-black corridor. As I snuck down the corridor, a door on the left side of the hallway opened; for a moment, I thought that the figure that had stepped outside hadn't noticed me.

But I was visible in the light from the room, and he opened his mouth to call for help, drawing his revolver at the same time. He had no chance to finish either motion; as I fell back in surprise, hitting the wall, something sharp burst through his torso, its pointed end black and shiny. The sword slipped out of the raider's lifeless body without noise, and I just caught a glimpse of those haunting, shining white eyes before my savior sprinted up the stairs with superhuman speed, disappearing before I had a chance to catch him, or even say a word.

_His eyes…they were pure white…_

_No, no, eyes don't glow like that. It's impossible, there's no such thing…_

I rose up, brushing some debris off of my pants. The voices were escalating; I could hear chanting from the room, not that of prayer but that of encouragement, or a raucous crowd. I heard a slight pop from above me, and realized that Joseph had found his way in; that was the sound of his silenced rifle.

I edged my way up to the doorway leading into the main room; there were at least two dozen men all around the walls and none of them seemed to notice me. They were intent on the two men kneeling in the center; with a sudden burst of horror, I realized that those two men were Officer Gomez and Miguel, kneeling before a masked man with a handgun.

I assumed that that man was the ringleader; he wore a leather mask and robes reminiscent of those of a priest, only they were dark red instead of brown. I could hear him now, over the roaring cries of the audience.

"—these trespassers, men without honor or reverence for Our Lord, have come to us now, kneeling before their masters—"

I realized what it was now.

And execution.

The masked man was going to execute them; my heart was racing, beating at a mile a minute, as I desperately tried to think of a way to get them out of there. Shooting wouldn't help; I was outnumbered by enormous odds. The man raised his revolver to Officer Gomez's forehead.

"You do not deserve the benefit of last words, heathen. Close your eyes, and embrace the void."

The revolver roared, and Gomez toppled backwards, his body following his head with the force of the bullet. The crowd cheered, completely engaged in the macabre ceremony that was being presented to them. I bit my tongue and winced, watching as Gomez's blood pooled on the floor. The man turned to Miguel, who was awaiting his turn silently.

"And another heathen shall bleed on this floor, sanctified by our Lord, Leader of the Brotherhood. Close your eyes, and embrace—"

There was a pop, and the far wall of the room exploded; the small gas tank that had been there was gone, replaced by a fireball that lit the gas main and brought fire upon the unwitting crowd, who had just now realized that there had been an explosion. The ringleader was thrown backwards by the blast, as was Miguel; both of them toppled over onto the concrete floor, as a wave of hot air rushed through the corridor, stinging my exposed flesh.

There were more pops as flames crackled and screams of pain haunted my hearing, which was ringing from the explosion; there were men on fire, those who were caught in the explosion who were now torches, running around wildly. The men on the wall closest to me were unharmed, but dazed; my instinct was to kill now, my adrenaline pulsing as the flames spewed from the main gas line. I emptied my entire clip into a line of soldiers standing against a wall, still dazed and confused from the explosion. I doubt the bullets even registered with them as the tiny lead missiles tore into flesh and clothing, dropping every single one of the men. It did not register with me that I had killed eight defenseless, confused men in cold blood, without a single thought to my actions.

Miguel was just as dazed, struggling to pull off the blindfold he wore. I grabbed him by his collar and dragged him back into the corridor, putting a round into the writhing ringleader. Although Miguel was unharmed, the masked man's face had been scorched by the blast, the fabric of the mask blasted away and his skin on the right side red and bubbly, a grotesque sight that I quickly forgot as bullets rang out in the chaos. Miguel was struggling to get up, I set him down and held my weapon up, firing off several shots towards the other side of the room, where Brotherhood soldiers were assembling, trying to aid their wounded comrades as well as take shots at whoever was attacking them.

Miguel rose to his feet, his knees shaking and his hands quivering. I cut down two more Brotherhood soldiers, both of them armed and ready; the only reason I hit them was because they stepped out from their cover to try to get a shot at me, but my reflexes were quicker than theirs.

"What the hell…just happened," Miguel groaned, clutching his head.

"Explain later. Get up stairs," I spoke rapidly, not even bothering to complete my sentences. We were both taking cover behind a set of lockers as one last shooter took aim at me, trying to hit either one of us.

"He's still shooting—"

"On my signal…GO!"

I pushed Miguel out from behind the lockers and emptied the rest of my clip at the remaining soldier. At least one of the bullets hit him, and I saw his limp body jerk back from his crouching position and fall, lifeless, to the floor, joining his comrades.

Miguel was already up the stairs, where Joseph was standing, leaning against the doorframe and clutching his arm. I could tell something was wrong; I noticed that the sleeve was stained with blood.

"Just a small wound, the bleeding's already stopped," Joseph reassured me as I came up the stairs, almost slipping on blood. There were two bodies at the top, both of them with massive slashes across their chests; Joseph had found a blade somewhere, and had used it to great effect. His pack was also bulging; I knew what was in there, but I asked him anyway.

"They were difficult to find, but they weren't locked up or anything. I also found some ammo as well as something else…something interesting…"

I did not ask what it was, but motioned to his arm again, noticing that the stain was darker.

"I've already applied a tourniquet—we're out of time, we need to get out of here," Joseph said, and began to lead us back the way we came.

The complex was now a disaster zone; there was blood everywhere I looked, on the floors, walls, and in one case even on the ceiling, which was incredibly perplexing. The smoke was beginning to billow into the halls, making it difficult to breathe, and the smell was terrible, a combination of thick smoke, burning flesh, vomit, and urine.

It was refreshing to step outside, even with the ash continually falling, but we were not granted a reprieve; there were hoarse cries, shouts and orders, and I could see lights and moving figures in the distance, moving towards the main building.

"We've got to move…this way," Joseph hissed, leading us around the right side of the building, past the entrance and the way he had entered. We were now in a whole new area of the storage facility, one relatively untouched by our nocturnal intrusion. There were some footprints, however, barely visible in the ash.

"Try to walk in the footprints," Joseph ordered, which slowed our pace down significantly. Luckily, the Brotherhood soldiers were still a step behind us, trying to locate us within the building. I could see them behind us, troops surrounding the entire complex, hoping to catch us before we could leave. Unfortunately for them, we had already made our escape, but just a hair's breadth.

Ten insanely tense, silent minutes later, we were standing on the edge of the facility. Smoke was rising from the center of the complex as Joseph struggled to slice a hole in the chain-link fence large enough for us to slip through. Though slightly dull, the combat knife combined with Joseph's strength allowed us to slip out within a few minutes, sneaking out onto the dark, ash-blanketed highway that ran past the facility. It was not until we were about halfway back to the stronghold before Miguel asked us to stop.

As Miguel fell down onto a dusty street-side bench, his knees shaking uncontrollably, Joseph was suddenly hit with the realization that tonight had been a disaster.

"Gomez and Wesley…and the other team…this was a total screw-up," Joseph spat, slapping his palm against the wall of a bus stop.

"We got what we needed—"

"But was it worth the price we paid?" Joseph argued, and I was hauntingly reminded of the previous day when Ari sealed the deal with Caldwell.

_Such is the price we pay_.

"I cannot answer that. What's done is done, and we can do nothing about it now."

We sat in silence for a few minutes, before Miguel expressed his willingness to move on.

We returned to the stronghold at about five in the morning; there were two Capricorn trucks sitting outside the lobby, their crews fast asleep inside. Joseph bid us farewell, saying that he would catch some sleep in the bed of one of the trucks until the driver woke up. We bid him a somber goodbye and then returned to our own quarters, exhausted; Miguel nearly fell into his bed, almost unconscious, and it took me less than ten minutes to go to sleep once I hit the sack. I heard the voices again, but it did not keep me from sleep.

"_The danger is greater than we believed. It threatens me—"_

"_Do you only think of yourself? This world has already been destroyed, but all you think about is your own wellbeing, brother. Think about these people…I've been with them; I was with one of them tonight. I fought with him, killed for him—"_

"_You did not let me finish. It threatens more than me; it threatens my world, worlds beyond, other universes. I did not intend for the consequences to be so wide-reaching."_

"_Perhaps you should've thought about that beforehand, brother. You stumbled onwards while building your world, so caught in a frenzy of creation that you were blind to how your creations wrought their own downfall."_

"_It is not too late to stop this. I did not foresee it, yes; I was blind, yes. But I can stop it. You need to keep your vigil over Leon Walker, as you have done tonight. But do not hold his hand."_

"_I have not been holding his hand. He fought on his own tonight, and he would not have survived if I had not started that fire, had not distracted the Brotherhood…had not killed that one man…"_

"_You have done well, brother, I do not doubt that. And I believe it is time for you to introduce yourself, but remember, do not hold his hand. He must find his destiny on his own."_


	22. Tea with Herobrine

**A/N: Ah, I just wanted to mention this, and it's thanks to my readers that I had attained this goal. The Gathering Storm has reached 10,000 views since its conception nearly a year ago, and I am very thankful that people read and enjoyed it. It's certainly not the best fanfic on this site, but I am glad that people have enjoyed it, and hope that "Gone" is just as enjoyable. So, without further ado, read on!**

I had met my "guardian angel" the previous night, so I sort of knew what to expect when I heard that I was going to meet him soon. He was the white-eyed man, the one who had saved my life during the assault on the storage facility, the one whose voice I had heard over the past week. There was another, the one that he called his "brother"; that man was more mysterious, and I had no knowledge of his whereabouts whatsoever.

I was awake early, having only about four hours of sleep; my body was exhausted, pushed to its limits during the previous night's action, and I found it difficult to get out of bed. I did manage to rouse myself and endure the brutal slog up the stairs to the kitchen where, as usual, breakfast was in the making.

"How are you feeling?" Celine asked as she took a large chunk of egg onto her plate and set it down on the nearby countertop.

"Terrible," I muttered, leaning against the doorframe. "Hardly any sleep last night."

"Ari's excused you from your duties today," Celine said, taking a bite of your breakfast. "You should get back to bed and get your rest."

I shook my head vehemently; I couldn't mention my meeting with the mysterious stranger, so I gave another excuse.

"I shouldn't do that…I have to stick to my duties."

"Are you sure, Leon? You don't look fit at all," Derek argued. I waved my hand to dismiss his claim.

"I'll be fine, really."

Neither of them argued any further; I took my breakfast eagerly, finished in about a minute, then head out to gather my gear. As I walked down the stairs, headed for the storage room, I heard the voice again.

"_Meet me in the nearby park. Your alien friend has been kind enough to host our little meeting."_

The Enderman's shack…I knew exactly where that was. I gathered only the gear I would need; my rifle, some food, water, and some simple combat armor in case I ran into anything out there. Before anyone else could wake up, I slipped out of the lobby and onto the darkened streets of the city.

I had forgotten a flashlight; that was the one thing I hadn't brought, and it was difficult to navigate the city under such heavy cloud cover. The ash was falling like snow now; the fires were burning ever closer, torching everything in their wake, unchecked and unchallenged. I left a trail of footprints behind me, figuring it would be pointless to cover them up; the ash would fill them in within an hour.

As I walked down to the park, a Capricorn patrol passed me; they did not notice me, stalking alongside the abandoned apartments, but they were hardly subtle themselves. There were at least three trucks, all filled to the brim with supplies, and one of the other APCs, presumably filled with soldiers. The convoy roared past me, on its way south, and I was left in silence until I reached the park.

Over the past two weeks, the park had changed dramatically, ever since I had come there with Celine. The pond was choked with ash, as were the trees; every surface was covered in the gray dust, and most of the flowers and shrubs were dying or already dead, suffocated by ash. The sight was pitiful; I trudged through the ash towards the tiny, gray shack on the far end of the park.

On top of the roof, one of the Ender children was sweeping ash off with a large broom, creating a large pile alongside the wall. He noticed me, but did not wave or even smile; he simply looked up from his labor, acknowledged my existence, and then continued to sweep. I knocked on the door of the shack three times, waiting for a few seconds before the door opened.

"Ah…punctual as always…please, come in," the Enderman spoke, his voice raspy but welcoming. He was forced to stoop over in the entryway, due to his abnormal height, and the only places that he could stand without having to bend over were the storage room and the main area, which had been retrofitted into a dining area.

There, sitting in a chair looking out the one lone window, was the white-eyed man. In the full light coming from the single lone lightbulb above the table, I could easily descry his features; he wore a light cyan shirt, stained with blood in a few places, and worn, faded blue jeans. I knew this man; there had been stories, legends about him, tales passed down from generation to generation of an evil creation that attempted to wreak havoc on those who were unfortunate enough to incur his wrath.

"Herobrine?"

The figure was startled momentarily, but turned around to face me, rather calm. His eyes were glowing like flashlights, brilliantly white. Everything else about him was normal, at least in appearance.

"Some call me that, yes," he answered, his voice pleasant and mild, like that of an average businessman.

"I thought I recognized your eyes…"

Herobrine seemed displeased, as if expecting a warmer welcome.

"I should've known that'd be my signature…'the glowing, white eyes spelling doom for all who look upon them', that ancient story," Herobrine snorted. He was exactly the opposite of what I had assumed him to be; many dark, demonic cults and horror movies had been devoted to him, portraying him as a creeping villain or a haunting phantasm.

"You've always been portrayed—"

"I know, I know. Rather unfairly, I've been demonized and feared by your kind since the day I spawned in this world. The early settlers feared the unknown, feared what they could not understand, and so they feared me, and thus hated me. I never harmed a single one of them, ever."

The Enderman, who had left as soon as I had arrived, returned into the dining room with a crude, rusty platter with three cups of dark, black tea on it. He handed one cup to each of us, without any sugar.

"I'm afraid that is all I can offer," the Enderman spoke to me. "Neither of us can actually consume food or nourishment, except for tea. There's just something about it…"

Without further ado, both the Enderman and Herobrine took deep gulps from their cups, savoring the boiling liquid, apparently not bothered by the heat.

"Why did you call me here?" I asked Herobrine, who was relaxing in the chair.

"My brother believed that it was time for you to learn why all of this has happened. Well, at least most of it."

"All of what?" I asked. I dared to take a sip of the tea, and recoiled almost instantly; the drink was burning hot.

"This whole…'apocalypse'," Herobrine spoke. "It was certainly not an accident—"

"Not an accident? Are you serious?" I asked, bemused. "Are you saying this was man-made? Man can't make earthquakes, or tsunamis, or solar flares—"

"But gods can," Herobrine retorted. I was speechless for a moment, stuttering; for all intents and purposes, I could've been dreaming at that point, the whole conversation was so unreal. Both the Enderman and Herobrine sat in their chairs, complacent and calm, while I was trying to process what this legendary "monster" was trying to tell me.

"You can't be serious…gods? There are no gods, it's all mythic, belief in a higher deity is preposterous now…no one _actually _believes in gods or angels or demons," I argued. Judging by the stern look on Herobrine's face, he was taking this rather seriously, and was not impressed by my attitude on the subject.

"One does exist. There are houses of worship dedicated to him, all over this land—"

"Do you mean to say Notch? The legendary 'creator', the one who 'created' us from nothing? Nobody believes that anymore," I shook my head vigorously.

"But he does exist. Take it from me—"

"Take it from a legend? Someone whose name exists only in myth, in stories told by crazy old hermits? Why should I…why the hell should I believe in you? Tell me…WHY?"

I stood up out of the chair momentarily, before realizing that I was losing my temper. Taking a deep breath, I relaxed and fell back down into the chair. Herobrine had remained calm during my entire episode.

"Because I saved your life. That's why."

He seemed pleased, knowing that he had won the argument; I backed down, holding my head in my hands, my elbows up on the table supporting them. My head was spinning wildly; I was utterly confused.

"This…it just doesn't make any sense…I almost died several times last night, got four hours of sleep, and now a phantom is telling me that gods are shaping the fate of mankind…"

"Not gods," Herobrine corrected me. "Only one god."

"What does it matter?" I hissed, still holding my head. I had a terrible headache, and the Enderman must've noticed I was in pain; he had gotten up, rushed over to a small, deteriorating cabinet near the bunk beds, and retrieved a few white pills and handed them to me. I took them gratefully, recognizing them as generic pain pills.

"It matters everything to me. He is my brother."

"I cannot believe this…it's all just too much," I conceded, exhausted.

"Take it all in stride," Herobrine reassured me.

"Easier said than done…if everything you said is true, than everything that I believe must be false."

"Not so," Herobrine said. "Nothing is false, you've just possessed many misconceptions about the universe around you."

It took a few minutes for the pain pills to kick in, but after a little bit I began to feel the effects, and was feeling a bit better. Herobrine had finished his tea, and the Enderman was still sitting there, gazing idly out the window, looking up at the rising buildings of downtown and the tall, jagged rock that was Langsford Peak.

"You say you're the brother of Notch?" I asked after those few minutes had passed.

"I am his brother. Ever since my creation…he was born two years ahead of me, always the older brother."

Nobody had ever explained the origin of Notch to me before; I vaguely remembered Sunday school, where a class full of bored, sleepy children was taught life lessons through meaningless, religious metaphors often dealing with Notch and his creation of the world.

We were always taught that Notch had made us; he had no other name than that, and had concocted our entire world, and our species, out of universe dust, and had made us. He always looked down upon us from the heavens, smiling at our good deeds and frowning upon our sinful acts, and subtly manipulating everybody.

"We've always been told Notch was simply made…did he create you?"

Herobrine seemed troubled about that topic; he waved his hand, as if to pass off the question.

"I can answer that at another time…I simply cannot answer it now."

"Why not?" I asked inquisitively.

"For reasons I find it difficult to explain…we need to get back on topic right now, anyway."

I had forgotten what our topic actually was; Herobrine reminded me that it was about how Notch was affecting the world through this "apocalypse".

"My brother has not told me his reasoning, but I know very well that he created this. He told me one day that he was going to make major changes; I do not know why."

"So…he's the cause of all of this? The earthquake, the fires, the solar flare…everything?" I asked. Herobrine seemed to be irritated by my constant queries.

"Yes…he caused all of this. None of it was man-made, and nobody could have foreseen it. I do not agree with his reasoning—"

"Who can? He's killed tens of millions of people, displaced millions more and basically ended our civilization! How can he justify anything like that?" I asked, starting to feel my blood rise. I allowed myself to cool down once more. Herobrine waited patiently to answer.

"I do not agree with his state of mind. Ever since my arrival in this land, I have grown accustomed to the people here, and have even grown to like some of them. To simply kill them off like he did…it's almost like genocide…"

"Almost?" I argued. "It is genocide…he's just destroyed his creations—"

"Perhaps he hasn't destroyed them, per se. Perhaps he's changing things, maybe for the better," Herobrine said.

"I simply cannot see how that can be justified," I stated again, finishing my tea; it was lukewarm now, perfect for drinking.

"Neither can I. But I have very little say in what my brother does."

"Why not? You're his brother…can't you do something to change his mind, or stop him?" I asked. I could tell that this was another question Herobrine was reluctant to answer; to my surprise, he answered it.

"It…is more complicated than you might expect. Do you know how I came to be on your planet, 'haunting' your people?" he asked. I shook my head.

"I once lived with my brother, up in the heavens where he resides…we lived together in harmony, even as he created this world you call home. But we had a disagreement one day…I shall not discuss the matter, for it is not important, but my brother overreacted. He was rarely impetuous, but he did not gave a second thought to the matter that day, and in his blind anger banished me to the world he had created, placing me inside of it and putting me, literally, in exile from my home world. And that is how I came to be here…I cannot leave, this world is my home now."

Herobrine's head drooped momentarily before his glowing eyes shot up again.

"Forget about that now. Before you leave, I must deliver my message from my brother, to you. We have been in contact, and he has a message for you."

I signaled to him to proceed, while handing the Enderman my empty cup.

"He told me that things are starting to happen…events that are spiraling out of his control. He is losing power somehow, and he hasn't told me. But he said that you are crucial to this chain of events, crucial to reversing it, and changing the way things went…he ordered me to watch over you during this time. That was all that he told me."

Herobrine was already rising from the table, handing his cup to the Enderman, who set it in the sink.

"You must take care of yourself, Leon Walker, for you are crucial to the events of the next several weeks. Stay safe, and I will be watching over you. Remember that."

As Herobrine began to exit, I stopped him.

"Why should I help…Notch? What reason do I have to help him? He destroyed the nation that I cherished…he ruined so many lives…why should I do what he commands?" I asked.

Herobrine seemed to have some trouble answering this, but he answered in the most honest way possible.

"Because he knows what he's doing. And there's much more at stake than this world."

"Do you mean to say—"

"We will meet again soon. Stay safe out there, Leon Walker."

Herobrine was already out the door of the tiny shack; I stood there for a few moments while the Enderman bustled about, rinsing out the teacups and leaving them to dry. I shook my head, wondering whether this was all one big dream, and stalked out of the shack, heading back towards the stronghold.

xXXXXXXXXXXXx

The small room did not exist, technically. It existed in the boundary world, a space between two different universes that were very similar to each other. One of them he had been born into; the other, he had created. He preferred the one that he had created to the dirty, corrupted world he had been born into. But both had significance, and both deserved to live. And both were in danger, along with countless others.

"Have you met with him?"

He could've been speaking to the very air around him, or so it would appear to a careless observer; but his brother could hear him, and understand him.

"_I have. It was productive…he is still perplexed, but he has a basic grasp of what is going on here. As much as I have."_

"Excellent, excellent," the man spoke, taking a seat in a chair. The room was rather undecorated, stark metal walls devoid of anything. There was a massive computer propped against the wall, an empty desk, and a chair…that was it.

"_I wish you would tell me more. You have said that there is a threat…why can't I know about it? Does it really endanger everything like you said?"_

"My creation is powerful, brother. Far more powerful that many would imagine, and the consequences of what happens in it stretch beyond its borders. There is much at stake, and Leon Walker is a crucial part of it."

"_So you have said before. I wish that you would tell me more—"_

"But it is not pertinent at the time. I have foreseen the danger, and will try my best to stop it. Until then, look over Leon Walker, and ensure that he is safe. But do _not _hold his hand. I have said that before."

"_Understood. Goodbye, brother."_

With that, Herobrine left; Notch felt his brother leaving his psyche, returning to the physical world that he inhabited. Sitting back in his chair, Notch was deep in thought; the danger was strong, although it had not come to fruition yet, and had to be stopped before it actually posed a threat. Until then, Notch decided it was time to return home.

Walking down the hallway, stepping into the portal that returned himself to his Earthbound home, Notch willed that his brother would do as he had been commanded.

_Keep Leon Walker safe. At all costs._


	23. Ten Hours to Live

As soon as I returned to the stronghold, Ari intercepted me and ordered me to set aside my duties for the day.

Although I argued against his verdict, he held firm, and insisted that I get my rest after the action of the previous night. Arguing anymore would be pointless; I accepted his decision and resigned myself to my bedroom until Marcus came in bearing news.

"The Capricorn boys have the laser up and running. One of their messengers came by a few minutes ago to spread the word," Marcus relayed to me.

"Everything's ok with it?" I asked, praying that they would have that door down soon.

"He didn't say if they had a problem or not, but I'm assuming there aren't any."

"How long?"

"About twenty-four hours," Marcus spoke, already turning away and heading up the stairs to the kitchen. "Enough time for you to rest up."

Without another word, he was up the stairs, just as Celine stepped inside. She had just returned from the infirmary.

"How is he?" I asked her, in reference to Miguel.

"He's asleep…his arm's been broken and he's pretty badly bruised. Rina's been up there ever since he got back, sitting at his bedside," she answered. She lay down on the bed beside me, laying her head on the second pillow that I had never found a use for.

"It's been nearly eight hours…"

"She's incredibly devoted to him. Ari doesn't like it, but…he hasn't said anything to her. Doesn't have the heart, I guess," Celine said. "I don't mind Miguel as much as Conor or Paul. Paul scares me, and Conor's a bit creepy…but like I said, I don't mind Miguel. I'm just happy that Rina has found someone she loves."

I resumed reading the philosophical book I had picked up while traveling to Langsford Peak, finding it in an abandoned bookstore along the highway. Celine said nothing; she lay on the bed with her eyes closed, her hands at her sides and her head lying on the spare pillow.

"I'm worried, Leon."

"About what?"

"The Brotherhood," Celine spoke, quieter now. The door was closed, but she spoke in barely a whisper. "This whole war thing…I just never feel safe. We can be attacked at any time, and…well, I feel so insecure, even here."

"We're relatively safe here—"

"But they know where we are. They know we're right here, and we don't have a huge garrison of defenders like the Capricorn…it's just us…"

Celine had turned to me, and I could see the fear in her eyes, the concern. I knew this had been bothering her for a long time, maybe even since the visit from the Brotherhood's leader several days back.

"We're safe here…believe me, Celine," I said, trying to sound as reassuring as possible. "The Capricorn soldiers patrol this area, we have patrols…if there's an attack, we'll know about it. Plus, they're not going on the offensive right now. They've been hit pretty hard in the past few days—"

It was true; the cistern, the storage facility, and the unnamed facility that had been caught ablaze all had been setbacks to the Brotherhood. They had lost large amounts of personnel and gear, and their communication lines had been damaged.

"Yeah…but I can't live without fear. One of these days, if we don't destroy them, they'll destroy us."

She said no more on the subject; she rolled onto her back once more, closing her eyes and resting. About five minutes later, Dr. Itliano stepped up to the door, and quietly summoned me to the infirmary. I left Celine sleeping on the bed, and followed him to the ward, where Miguel was sitting in his bed, rubbing his eyes.

"How is he?" I asked William, who was messing with some machinery next to Miguel's stretcher.

"He's doing relatively well…had a bit of amnesia when he woke up, but he says he has something to tell you. Several things, actually."

Rina was still sitting by the bedside, holding Miguel's right hand tightly, her eyes fixated on him. Art, the unconscious sentry, was in the farthest corner, attached to the machinery we had managed to raid from the hospital.

"Can they wait? You don't look like you're in too good of shape," I warned Miguel, who shook his head violently.

"No…I should tell you. I overheard several Brotherhood soldiers last night, when they had me blindfolded in the basement of that building. Some of them mentioned the Bailey Sanitarium…they said it was full of traps, shotgun traps, frag mines, explosive tripwires everywhere…they were talking about it, thought I couldn't hear them, but I did…"

Miguel was breathing heavily, his chest heaving noticeably from under the heavy blanket. I noticed Conor over at the far side of the room, surrounded by various containers and jars, along with several chemistry sets and a brewing station.

"The Capricorn guys should know this. They'll be walking into a deathtrap otherwise, and they wouldn't even know it…"

"There's something else…too…"

Miguel struggled to wrench his hand from Rina's grasp, and reached down into the covers. Almost immediately he pulled out a crumpled piece of paper; the writing was barely legible, but I was able to make it out as I unfolded it.

_Capt._

_We barely made it out of Bailey. The traps were easy enough to clear in the East Wing, but there's something else down there. It was too dark to get a glimpse of those things, but they weren't human, never were either. The tight spaces made it difficult for us to fire, so the bastards took at ten of the squad down before we were able to secure our hall and beat them back. _

_They're not human, but they're intelligent. I could hear grunting, squealing, moaning…even something akin to oinking. Something pig-like…it's all too crazy to explain. If you even believe me, don't go into Bailey Sanitarium._

_DO NOT ENTER._

_Respectfully,_

_Cpl. Konne_

"I found it on one of the grunts we killed, before Gomez and I were captured," Miguel spoke, straining to raise his other arm out of the blanket. I realized that it was in a cast, and there was blood staining the gauze. "I don't know what the hell this guy was talking about…it sounds so out of this world…"

"I don't know what to make of it," I spoke, studying the note again. "I honestly don't know…it's a warning, but…what could be in there?"

As I reread the letter, I was reminded of a story my mother used to tell me, before she died of tuberculosis. She told me stories of a place called "the Nether", a dimension that the government refused to believe existed, a place full of fire and the souls of the damned. She spoke of pigmen, rotting, walking corpses that patrolled the endless fiery deserts of the Nether, armed with weapons of gold and created by some evil force to punish the damned. The mysterious antagonists in the note reminded me strongly of the "undead swine" of the children's stories.

"Eh…I'll send it to Dr. Caldwell. He might know more about it than me."

I handed the note to Rina, who was absorbed with reading it. Miguel tried to rise from his bed, but Dr. Itliano's instincts were lightning fast, and he was at the bedside before Miguel could take another breath, helping him back down onto the mattress.

"You need your rest, son. No way I'm letting you out of this infirmary until that broken arm's healed," the doctor warned.

"That'll be weeks—"

"Conor's getting a regeneration potion ready that will have your arm healed within a day. He just needs the right ingredients…"

"I don't have them, Doc," Conor spoke, irritated. He was focused on his work at the chemistry set, which smelled like roses mixing with burned rubber. "I need a ghast tear…those things haven't been used in medicine for centuries, only used by government medical facilities. There's none of those in the local clinics."

"Unfortunately," William grumbled. "Unless he gets some of those tears, Miguel will be here for at least two weeks. The healing potions help, but they're slow, especially as diluted as they are."

Conor snorted, his eyes still on the set.

"You know we're low on ingredients, Doc. There's nothing I can do…wounds will just have to heal."

"Just eat good, drink well, and rest," William ordered. "You'll be healthy in no time."

I had no more business in the room; I decided to leave, and rest as much as I could. On the way down, I met one of the messengers from the Capricorn, who was delivering a package to Ari, and told him to send the note Miguel had handed to me over to Dr. Caldwell. The messenger took it eagerly, and disappeared down the stairwell. Celine was still asleep when I returned to my room; I closed the blinds, gently pulled the covers over her body, and slipped in under the comforter with her, falling asleep in less than ten minutes.

xXXXXXXXXXXXx

It was around ten at night when I woke up, having slept for hours. Celine was out of my bed; the door was wide open, and I could hear vomiting, a wet, sickly sound, coming from the infirmary. I fumbled for some clothes, hurriedly throwing on my old, sweat-stained clothes from yesterday. I rushed to the infirmary, which was crowded with people in various states of undress.

I felt my stomach turn over as I pushed through the crowd to find Miguel sprawled out on his bed, his face pale and his forehead covered in sweat. His entire upper body, which lay uncovered, was covered in gleaming sweat, and his breathing was forced and very rapid, almost on the point of hyperventilation. William was dabbing at his forehead with a wet cloth, and Conor was pouring a bottle of lime-green liquid down his throat, forcing it down quickly. Celine, Rina, Ari Marcus and Paul were gathered around the bed, all dressed in their bedclothes or lingerie. The only exception was Marcus, who was suited up in combat gear, complete with a rifle.

"Leon…we're not sure what happened to him, but Dr. Itliano believes that he's been poisoned with bromine, somehow," Ari spoke as he noticed me. Ari wore a light t-shirt and boxers, and had no other gear on him; he had obviously just woken up, and was still waking up.

"How does he—"

"We may not have much time. His vital signs are dropping and his breathing is becoming more rapid. Conor's got health potions and water for him, but there's not much more we can do here. But there's something I need you to do…"

Ari called Marcus over; surprisingly, Marcus was entirely sober, not a drop of alcohol within him. His speech was not slurred like it usually was, and he was not groggy at all; rather, he had the look of a warrior about him, ready for action.

"Dr. Caldwell received the note you sent to him earlier today, and he replied to me, rather excitedly. He told me that there was a storeroom in the Sanitarium's sublevel that held Nether-based ingredients for potions and such, something that he knew from his days as a researcher…a fix for bromine can be developed if you can find blaze powder and ghast tears down there, and it will be able to purge his system of the poison…"

Ari paused as Miguel began to retch again; at least he had retained control of his body, for now, and he wasn't going into spasms.

"They have the door close to open…Caldwell told me that the laser needs to burn through a few more inches, and the door can be busted down. He's sent a truck here to pick you two up and take you to the Sanitarium—"

Ari paused again to allow Miguel to purge himself.

"Just hurry. We have about ten hours before Conor's potions can do no more and the poison overtakes his nervous system. You need to go, and quickly."

Ari sent us off with that; I looked back to see a grieving Rina burying her head in Celine's chest, before Marcus pulled me down to the storage room.

"Take whatever the hell you think you'll need," Marcus ordered. I quickly grabbed my assault rifle, a few flares and a combat knife before we headed out, nearly falling down the stairs as we sprinted. There was indeed a pickup truck waiting for us; the ride to Bailey would take us about half an hour.

"Ok…half an hour there, half an hour back…we've got nine hours to do our thing. Let's get going," Marcus said as he heaved himself into the bed of the truck. I took no more time standing out in the cold air in front of the lobby; I leapt into the bed of the truck along with Marcus, and we began to rush north, towards downtown and towards the Sanitarium.


	24. Sanitarium

**A/N: I have made up for the length of the latest chapter by making this the longest chapter ever, at nearly 5,000 words. I tend to keep my chapters relatively short, so this is an accomplishment for me. **

Paul had decided to join us on our infiltration of the Sanitarium; just as our truck pulled away from the building, he rushed out, flailing his arms like a madman. And so we picked him up and began to rush to Bailey, hoping to find an antidote for the bromine that was threatening Miguel's life. There were six of us in the bed of that truck; Marcus, Paul and I were sitting at the back end, while Darius, Lance Greenwell and Dr. Caldwell sat at the other end. Caldwell was the only one not packing heat; he had a small 9mm, but Darius carried both a heavy assault rifle and his revolver, and Lance was hauling dual pistols and a tactical shotgun, along with a combat knife. We were all outfitted for combat; Caldwell had obviously prepared his men for whatever lay inside that sanitarium.

"I'm glad you sent me that note, Leon," Caldwell spoke over the rushing of the air around us, as the truck barreled through downtown. "It may seem like an old fairytale to you, but I've been privy to more secrets than I wish to be, and that was one of them."

"You knew they were in there the entire time?" I asked him, surprised.

"I had a feeling. They were moved down there several years back…I thought they would've moved them out. Put them down there for study."

Zombie pigmen…figments of old tales meant to scare children, come to life as a true nightmare. The fact that we were about to delve into a dark, decrepit sanitarium was bad enough, but we had to face the living dead as well. It just made the entire thing worse.

We passed by the Gates Building, bypassing the main route, which was gated and walled off, and taking one of the avenues around it. It was a detour, but it would actually save us some time; we didn't have to wait for the gates to be raised to allow us through the compound.

"Whatever you've heard about pigmen before, whatever the story was, it's probably true," Caldwell spoke again as we passed the well-lit compound.

"My mother used to tell me those stories to scare me into obedience…I still have trouble believing that those things are down there—"

Caldwell shook his head vigorously at Darius.

"They're down there, believe me. They exist…"

"Do they die?" I asked naively. I could hear Paul snicker beside me, but it was an honest question; I had little knowledge about zombie pigmen.

"They do react to gunshots…they will be killed if hit in the head. Some studies involved that a few years back—"

"How do you know all this, doc?" Lance asked, as if he didn't believe a word of it.

"I peer reviewed several of the papers on the experiment. They weren't published to the public, just within research circles."

Lance seemed satisfied, as he asked no further questions. We were silent for a few moments as the truck turned onto Carson Boulevard, which would take us into the eastern edge of downtown, where the Sanitarium was located.

"I'm sorry to hear about your friend," Darius spoke, directly to me. This was the first time he had spoken to me about a personal matter; I was taken aback momentarily, as I was not expecting him to talk about Miguel.

"He'll be alright…as long as we find that Nether stuff…"

"We can use some as well," Caldwell interjected. "It would be useful for weapons, and we can manufacture medicine with it. So it's more than just your friend…no offense."

"None taken," I said to him.

"What happened to him again?" Darius asked, fingering the stock of his rifle idly.

"Bromine. Somehow, he got poisoned…our doctor identified it, but he said the method of contraction is still vague."

We drove on until we reached a relatively empty stretch of street; a large, solid slab of stone that passed for a bank sat on the left side, while on the right side was a thick stone wall that reached at least twenty feet high.

"This is it…Bailey…"

Caldwell hopped out of the bed as the truck shut down its engine, and took out a flashlight, which he shone on a large metal plaque overlooking a closed gate. The plaque read:

**BAILEY MENTAL INSTITUTION**

**FOUNDED CIRCA **

I was unable to read the rest of it; instead of heading to the gate, Caldwell lifted up a manhole cover in the middle of the street and directed us to it.

"This leads down to the tunnel. We won't need the main gate."

Caldwell went down first, gripping the flashlight in one hand and the ladder rungs with the other. One by one we descended into the sewers, leaving the truck sitting on the side of the street. The driver, the last person in, dragged the manhole cover back over the hole, and we were surrounded by darkness, save Caldwell's torch.

"It's about five hundred feet and one right turn. Follow me, please."

The walk was short; as soon as we came to the first turn, we were greeted by a hive of activity. There were walls of sandbags, crates of supplies, several dozen personnel, and a large, titanium mining laser sitting on a platform in the middle of the canal, aimed at a large, solid metal door that was at least twenty feet wide and ten feet high. The laser was cutting along the edge of the door, slicing through the thick material; there was about half an inch left for it to cut through.

Barely five minutes passed; someone shouted something, and several idle soldiers came to the door and simultaneously kicked it forcefully. The door, severed from its frame, collapsed inward, coming down on the hard concrete floor with a mighty crash. The laser had turned itself off; it now sat there, inactive, the mechanism still pointed at where the door had been.

"It took us shorter than expected; it's a good thing, too," Caldwell said as he led us up to the doorway. He ordered each of us to grab a flashlight from the supply crate next to the laser; we each took our own torch, and pointed it inside the massive corridor that now faced us.

"Damn…it's dark in there," Paul said, wincing. "I always hated prisons. Just hated them."

"It's not a prison…" Caldwell argued.

"Close enough to it. Just one step above, if you ask me."

Caldwell figured it was pointless to argue. He began to step into the tunnel, lighting the way with his flashlight.

"We aren't in the sanitarium yet. This is an access tunnel to the sublevel, which leads to another access tunnel to Riverside. We'll have to get this area clear first."

We all stepped into the tunnel; it was made entirely of concrete, all sides and ceiling. The tunnel seemed to stretch on forever.

"We're the scouting party. It's just us, gentlemen…"

"Whoa…wait…we're the scouting party? I thought there would be a group going ahead—"

Paul was protesting now, backing out of the corridor.

"What's the matter, Paul? Scared?" Marcus teased, grinning wickedly.

"I ain't scared, man…but I didn't sign up for this shit. Undead in a dark prison…this is just ludicrous—"

"Do you have to be reminded that your man's life is on the line?" I said. Paul's arms stiffened, and he winced; he was torn between the life of Miguel and his own, which was now potentially at risk.

"Goddamnit…I can't believe I'm doing this…that bastard is going to owe me so much…"

Still cursing, Paul followed right behind Caldwell as the scientist led the way through the tunnel. Almost instantly after we entered, the concrete changed to old, dusty cobblestone, and the air grew thicker, and began to smell worse. The lights of the outpost faded behind us, and we were left in the deepening darkness as we pressed onward.

"Notch…what's that smell?" Lance cursed, choking slightly. We all smelled it; I could hear Caldwell stifling his own choking and Paul had pressed his arm up to his nostrils.

"Smells like something rotting," I observed, catching wind of the stench from up ahead.

"Yeah…pretty strong, too," Caldwell spoke, his voice nasally. He was pinching his nostrils shut.

As we pressed on, the air grew thick, and it was difficult to breathe. After another five minutes, we exited our tunnel and came out into a large, fifty-foot by fifty-foot square. It was there that the horrors of the sanitarium were finally revealed by the light of our torches.

The square, which consisted of our level and three above us, was line with cells, with corridors branching off in the four cardinal directions. Almost every cell had a decomposing body or skeleton in it; some had more, piled up and rotting. The stench here was overpowering; I heard Darius retch behind me, and everyone else tried to hold back their bile.

"They…just left them here…to die?" Lance whispered, horrified. Everywhere we looked, there were bodies, in various states of decomposition. Some of them had no clothing, and others were trussed up; all of them were dead.

"They couldn't be bothered…to evacuate them?" I asked incredulously, examining one of the cells. The skeleton was propped up against the bars, its arms reaching out from inside, as if the person's final moments were spent desperately groping for a rescuer, someone to free her from her cage.

"Apparently not. It's sickening," Caldwell gagged, avoiding all of the cells. "We need to keep going…whoever did this will pay someday."

"Which way, then? I'm totally lost," Darius said, spinning his flashlight wildly. Each of us had our light on a different part of the asylum, trying to get our bearings; everywhere else was completely dark, pitch black.

I felt like someone was watching me, someone watching from the shadows; it might have been Herobrine, keeping vigil over me, but I felt like it was far more sinister.

"Be aware of traps. Someone must've mined this place…"

We fanned out around the main area; I had no idea what I was looking for, but the first thing I found upon examining one of the side corridors was an equally terrible sight. There was a body lying in the hallway; one of its legs was missing, and I found it stuck at an upright angle in a bear trap, the bloody stump gleaming in my flashlight's light. The man had dragged himself a fair distance, leaving a trail of crimson behind him; I was confused about how he did this, until I saw the hacksaw nearby, covered in blood. It was a gruesome sight indeed; the man had amputated himself, but bled to death before he could escape this hellish asylum.

"There might be something over here…I can't be sure…"

I took a step towards something that looked like a stairway, but immediately realized I had done something wrong. The floor collapsed beneath me; the stones fell loose, bringing me down along with about ten pounds of loose mortar and cobblestone, I fell nearly twenty feet, coming to a painful halt at a stone floor. I covered my face and head with my arms as the heavy bricks rained down, hitting my stomach and chest but luckily missing my groin. It still hurt, though; for a moment, I was so dazed I could not move. There were several lights above me, and I realized that those were the flashlights, shining down through the hole. I had fallen two stories deeper into the sanitarium.

"Leon…you alright down there?" I heard a gruff voice, and recognized Marcus.

"Yeah…a bit bruised…"

"We're going to find a way down there…there's a staircase right over here…"

_So I was right. I did find a staircase…_

The flashlights disappeared, leaving me in the dark. I fumbled to find my torch; it was at my side, under two bricks. Praying that it would turn on, I flipped the switch, and a dim beam rose from the flashlight. It was better than nothing; rising, I shook off some dust and examined my surroundings.

A dark, tight corridor lined with empty cells. It was pitch black now, except for my lone light; the others had left me, and I was beginning to panic, alone except for my weak light. This was true fear; I could feel sweat slink down my neck, chilling me. Every distant thump, every creak of the old building was one of the zombie pigmen stalking me, watching me from the shadows.

My light was shining on one of the cells, which had an open door, when I heard a low, raspy grunt coming from around a nearby corner. Luckily, my light was not shining on that corner; otherwise, the pigmen would have most likely seen it. I had the time to switch off the light, panic for a moment, and then duck into the cell, praying that the creature wouldn't wander into my hiding spot.

The footsteps, distant at first, were slow and shuffling, as if the creature were dragging itself along the floor. I could see nothing in the blackness; the shuffling grew nearer, and the low grunting grew louder. A terrible stench pervaded the air, a disgusting odor of rotten flesh that grew stronger as the shuffling grew louder. I could hear him passing right by my open door, hear him grunting and at one point snorting loudly, very much like a pig would. As he passed, disappearing down the hallway, the smell grew weaker, and as soon as I could hear the steps no longer I rushed out of my cell, nearly hitting the opposite wall in my mad dash to freedom.

Once around the corner, I put the torch on once more and, making sure that there wasn't a second pigman nearby, edged down the hallway. I was far more alert now; what had once been legend was now very real, and I had no idea how many resided in these dank halls. My best chance was to try and find either a staircase or the storage room, and keep out of the way of the brutes as they meandered through the sub-level.

As I was deep in thought, poking my head around another dark corner, a soft tap on a nearby metal door made me jump and almost drop my light. The tap came again, very soft, very light; I edged up to the door, and answered it with a tap, wondering what the hell could be in there.

"Is…someone there?"

The voice was shaky, terrified; it sounded like a young man, no older than twenty, and he was uncontrolled, and afraid.

"Yeah…and who are you?" I whispered to him, keeping my ear to the door.

"Listen, man…you gotta get me out of here, I've been in here for almost two days now…I can't get out of here with those things—"

"Who are you?" I asked again, sternly. The voice hesitated.

"I'm…I'm one of the Brotherhood…Sixth Holy Unit, some of us came down here on a scavenging trip—"

"So you're one of those bastards? The ones who've been attacking us?"

"Are you one of those guys from the Capricorn?" the raider asked, his voice still shaking uncontrollably. "Look, man…it wasn't my choice to attack your group. I'm just a grunt…not even twenty-one yet, survived the chaos by hiding in my cellar and forced into the Brotherhood by some of their other guys…"

I could tell the teen was on the verge of tears; his voice was breaking, and I couldn't blame him. He had been stuck in this sanitarium for two days, his squad having left him behind after suffering heavy casualties. Against my better instinct, I opened the door, which was unlocked.

The man was very young, with a stubbly chin, wavy brown hair and a soft, slightly pudgy face. He was thin and wiry, like a stereotypical teenage boy, and the only weapon on him was an SMG that was badly damaged and scratched. There were various boxes of supplies in there; a few of them contained cans of food, and there were several empty tin cans scattered on the floor.

"Thank you so much, you're—"

"Save it," I scorned him, pushing him back a bit as he rushed up to me. "Don't make me regret getting you out of here. It's still not safe, those things are still lurking, so keep quiet and stay with me. If you've got a flashlight, use it."

I assumed he had no flashlight, as he made no move to pull one out, but stuck closely to my back as he switched off the light inside the closet and followed me. We walked down the hallways further, until I smelled the fetid odor again.

"Back…_back_," I hissed as he stumbled backwards. I directed him into an open cell as the pigmen came towards us, unaware of our presence. He was too far to hear us, and he obviously could not smell us; whether his sense of smell was nonexistent, or his own odor overpowered ours, I did not know.

As soon as he passed on, I heard something in my ear. It was a faint whisper; at first, I thought it was the raider beside me, whispering something. But it wasn't him.

…_come closer…you are close…come…_

I tapped the side of my head lightly, trying to expel the sound. It seemed to work momentarily, and I pressed on, hauling the raider out of our cell. I flipped the light back on, leading us further down the hallway.

_Come to me…you are not far…come closer…_

"Damn, this place creeps me out—"

I ordered him to hush, rather angrily, trying to hear the voice. The further I went down the dark corridors, the stronger it became.

"Can you hear that?"

"Hear what?" the raider asked. We kept our voices low, in case any pigmen lurked nearby.

"That voice…"

_Closer…you are almost there…I need you…_

_Come just a bit closer…almost there…so close…_

I never noticed the pigman. I didn't turn the light off; I ran right into him, almost running as I searched for the noise. The pigman was thrown back against the wall, and as soon as he saw me, and the light shone in his face, he squealed with rage, raising a crudely constructed spear in the air.

The SMG popped behind me, hitting the pigman in the face. The flashlight had provided enough light for the raider behind me to shoot at the pigman, hitting him in the head. As promised, the undead was killed instantly, much like a zombie in movies, knocked back against the wall. It slid down the cobblestone wall, coming to a rest at the bottom.

It took me a moment to get back up, as I could hear more squealing and oinking, angry and confused, coming from behind us.

"Shit man…I made a bad move there…"

"Forget it, we have to run!" I said, dragging the raider with me. We had attracted unwanted attention now; I almost fell down the sudden set of stairs that were right around the corner where the pigman had been, sprinting down them at top speed.

_You are so close…you are so close to me…the door…the door…_

I saw the door; in the glow of the flashlight, it was barely visible, the last door before a dead end. It was our only chance; the slapping of feet behind me was loud and clear, and I prayed that the door would be unlocked. I threw my body against it, and it opened inward, admitting us.

I shut the door quickly behind me, found the locking mechanism, and sealed it from the inside just as a massive body crashed against the exterior with the force of a charging bull.

_You…have found me…you are safe…_

"Well, well. Company. That's always welcome."

We were both on the floor, as the pigman continued to bash into the door, with no success. We turned around to face a decent-looking man dressed in laboratory clothing, complete with glasses and coat. He was looking at us rather bemusedly, as if he had never seen a human before.

"I'm…excuse me?"

"It's been at least two months since someone has been down here. Someone living, at least," the man said, motioning to the door that the pigmen were trying to bust into.

"Are they…able to get inside?"

"The door's sealed, and it's made to hold against them. Same structure as the underground entrance, which is how I presume you got in here?"

"The…how did you know?"

"Easy. The front entrance is booby-trapped with nuclear landmines for some damned reason, so I think I would've known if you'd attempted to enter from above."

_Nuclear landmines? Who plants that kind of junk at an asylum? Talk about high security…_

"Wait…wait…who are you? I just went through hell down here, and my head's spinning like a top—"

"Please, relax," the scientist spoke, helping me up and pointing to a small couch against the far wall. I realized this was some sort of reception room, with a desk, some cabinets, a clock and a table with year-old magazines on it. "I understand it must have been difficult to get down here. The sublevel is the only one without any sort of traps—"

"The rest of the facility is booby-trapped. My squad tried to get into here a few days back," the raider spoke, falling down onto the couch.

"Indeed. I must explain to you why; we are perfectly comfortable in here—"

"There's no time, though…I need to find supplies down here, Nether stuff for a potion that I need, and I need to get out of here—"

"What's the rush?" the man interrupted me. "Is there a problem? As you can see, I don't think you'll be leaving anytime soon."

"You're holding us captive here?!" I asked him incredulously. I had refused to sit down on the couch; the clock was ticking, as was Miguel's life.

"I'm not holding you captive here…they are," the man spoke, pointing to the door. "I have no weapons, and I doubt that pitiful gun will do much against the horde."

The man frowned at the beat up SMG held in the raider's hand.

"Anyways, if you say you're in a hurry, please tell me why. We have nothing else to do down here—"

"First off, I don't know you. And I don't know this man, either…I just rescued him from these beasts, and now I'm trapped down here—"

I was furious, almost steaming. The doctor noticed that I was angry, and motioned for me to calm down. I allowed myself to regain my emotions, cooling down for a moment.

"Now…let's calm down for a moment. We have problems here, but we cannot solve them with rushed judgment. We need cool logic."

I breathed deeply before falling down onto the couch, allowing the scientist to speak.

"I am Dr. Laurence Latner, out of the Kingsford Physics Department up north. May I ask your name?"

"Leon Walker…Coastal City, walked all the way here…"

"A survivor, eh? And who are you?" Latner asked, pointing to the raider.

"The name's just Max…the last name's not important…"

"He's one of the Brotherhood grunts," I spat, refusing to look at him. We were technically hostile to one another, even though he had saved my life previously.

"I do not know what that is a reference to...I have been stuck down here for two months because of my research. Anyway, tell me your problem, Mr. Walker. Perhaps I have the solution for it."

I explained to Dr. Latner the poison that Miguel had somehow contracted, and that he had less than nine hours left to live. Dr. Latner seemed concerned, but he did not panic.

"I have a way to solve this. If it's bromine that you need the antidote to…I have some of the ingredients," he said.

"Some of—"

"Follow me, please. You too, Max," he said, asking the raider to come. Max followed quietly behind me, as Dr. Latner led us down a well-lit, sterile metal hallway, which seemed to go on forever.

"This entire facility beneath the sanitarium is devoted to the study of the 'Nether' dimension that forms the basis of many a cheesy summer popcorn flick—"

"You mean the Nether is real? It's always been a legend…"

"More than real, Mr. Walker. I deal with it every day, and unfortunately those savage beasts outside are part of my job. I have been conducting research on the Nether's flora for years, but only for the past two months have I studied the fauna. I kept them locked up in the sublevel, away from the sanitarium's patients, and studied them at my own whim."

We continued down the hallway, listening to Latner explain his job.

"When the problems started to occur, my contact with the surface, which was very restricted, was cut off completely. Luckily I had a large amount of food and supplies down here, and for the past month I have been living large after the apocalypse, continuing to collect my data and do my research. It will be useful one of these days."

"You live down here alone?"

"For the past year, since this lab was established, I have been down here. Up until two months ago, some guys from Kingsford came down to receive samples and check up on me. But they stopped coming, and my only companion was the radio until the signal died when the capital descended into chaos. Now I'm just a lonely old coot trying his best to do his research."

We stepped into a storage cabinet, with containers full of nether wart, blaze powder and magma cream.

"I thought all of this stuff was legendary…or restricted to the government completely…"

Max was astonished at this huge collection; even I had to marvel at it.

"Some of this stuff got out to the potioneers before the crisis, but not much. It was a rare commodity, and many believed that these ingredients did not exist. They exist, but in small quantities. And I'm afraid that I lack one ingredient that you need for your antidote."

"Which one is that?" I asked.

"There are no ghast tears in here…we have never been able to retrieve a sample of them."

My heart sank; we had a little more than eight hours, and we had no ghast tears? How would we get them, let alone get out of here and bring the antidote back to Miguel?

"How—"

"Please, follow me. I have the solution to your problem very close."

We walked on further; we had to be at least a quarter of a mile from the door, going deeper into the earth as we went down several long staircases.

"How'd you get those…things here?" Max asked, still following behind me.

"Groups of soldiers herded them into the cells. It wasn't an easy task, but they were able to secure at least thirty. Unfortunately, the sublevel cell doors automatically opened when the power was cut off, and…well, that's how I've been trapped down here."

Dr. Latner chuckled at his own predicament; perhaps two months of isolation was driving him a bit over the edge, as I had noticed his eccentricities from the first moment I met him.

"So, how exactly did you get them—"

"Right here, my friend."

Dr. Latner led us into a small room at the end of the hall. It wasn't very wide or long, but it certainly was tall, tall enough to contain the large black frame that stood before us, glowing with an extraterrestrial purple light. I could hear voices coming from inside of it, like the ones I had heard before…beckoning me, calling me forth…

"Have you heard the voices yet?" the doctor asked me.

"That…whispering?"

"Yes…the portal beckons to you, calls you, and leads you to it. It is a corrupting influence, one that is difficult to fight. So I take it you have heard it calling to you?"

"That's what led me here…I was following voices," I said sheepishly.

"Well, it probably saved your life. You wouldn't have found it down here, and you would most likely be dead by now if you hadn't followed it. Anyway…here's our solution," Dr. Latner said grandly, showcasing the portal.

"We're…not going in there, are we?" Max asked timidly.

"Well…you do not have to. This is a matter for Mr. Walker here, as it is _his _friend whose life is on the line. But I would be glad to have your assistance."

"How exactly am I going to help?" Max asked cautiously.

"I will explain it to you if you wish to follow me through. We will have a ghast tear by the time we leave the Nether."

With a flourish of his hand, Dr. Latner removed a key from one of his many pockets and opened up a nearby storage locker, revealing several small SMGs and four large .50 caliber sniper rifles, each nearly five feet long.

"Ghasts can be difficult to kill. Luckily, the M95 is on our side, gentlemen. If you have the guts to fire this gun, it will be easy to take down one of those behemoths."

Dr. Latner casually took his own rifle, and handed both of us one of the snipers. It was heavy, weighing at least twenty pounds, if not more.

"This bottle will be needed for the tears. I will explain my plan to you once we enter. We have a little less than eight hours, now, before your friend will meet his maker. We must make the best of our time."

Without further ado, Dr. Latner stepped casually into the brilliant purple vortex of the frame, and with a sudden snap and a rush of air, he disappeared inside of it. Max and I followed, both rather timidly, and the world around us darkened as the whispering grew louder, ever louder, and the portal consumed us and tore us from the face of the earth.


	25. Into Fire

The feeling of being torn apart came and went in a split-second, leaving me disoriented and dazed. The heat was nearly unbearable; it took me a moment to realize that we were no longer in the cool confines of the subterranean laboratory, but that we were in an entirely different place, in an entirely different dimension.

Still, we were not exposed to the elements; we seemed to be inside of a small building, its walls plaster and its floor linoleum, much like a waiting room at a doctor's office. The lights were harshly fluorescent, and there was no air-conditioning to speak of in the entire complex. As I rose off the floor, I found our slightly insane host, Dr. Latner, pecking at a small keypad next to a large sliding door.

"Is this…"

"The Nether? Yes, you are one of the few who will be witness to his inferno, and hopefully you will survive to tell the tale," Latner spoke. It was a phrase like this that gave me the idea that he was a bit unhinged after being shut up in his research chamber for over two months, without any human contact.

"Well…that was easier than I thought."

"Excuse me?"

"Getting here…I thought it would be more difficult that just stepping through a portal," I said, helping Max up off the floor. Despite the fact that he was hostile, I was beginning to appreciate his company; it would've been difficult to work with Dr. Latner alone.

"It is just as simple as that. Surviving, on the other hand…that is a different matter. However, we all are very well outfitted, so we should be able to take care of whatever proves to be an obstacle."

The doctor was referring to our .50 caliber sniper rifles, massive beasts that could punch through solid metal with ease. It was difficult to carry, even with my experience with firearms; with some difficulty, I hoisted the monster over my shoulder and followed Latner out of the sliding door, which admitted us into the hellish landscape of the Nether.

The sky, wherever it could be seen, was a sickly crimson color, the horizon miles away from us. We were basically on a giant floating island, hovering over a sea of fire, a massive ceiling of Netherrack suspended over us, as if by magic. Nothing in this place gave me any sort of comfort; I was beginning to doubt if Miguel was going to live through this.

"How long will we—"

"We still have a little less than eight hours. Plenty of time to retrieve what we need and get back, provided we don't run into any obstacles on our way," Latner said. He was leading our little convoy down a path made out of stone bricks, which meandered its way down a steep cliff and onto a plain of hell dirt.

"What kind of obstacles? And what is your plan, anyway?" I asked him. Max remained silent behind us, trudging down the path without saying a word.

"Well…there is a breeding ground for ghasts about two miles from here. It's not too long of a walk, but we do face a minor obstacle along the way."

"Which is?"

Latner pointed in the distance, and I squinted to see what he was seeing. I could barely make out the smudgy silhouette of a massive set of turrets and towers rising in the distance, almost as if they rose up out of the magma sea.

"What…is it?"

"A fortress…none of us know how it got there, but everyone knows to steer clear. Unfortunately, that's the only known route to the breeding grounds. There's probably another, but our time is limited, and we can't risk forging another path just for the sake of safety."

Though crazy, Latner had a point; we had limited time, and I would have to risk whatever dangers lie within the fortress to save Miguel's life. We had to press on, no matter the consequences.

There were pigmen down on the plain, but they seemed to be ignoring our presence. Several times, as we descended down the hill and onto the flatlands, I passed by several of the hideous undead, and none of them made a single move to attack or even interact with me.

"What's with these things? First they attack us, and now—"

"We're not on their turf," Latner answered Max, who had finally spoken up. "We figured that out the hard way—if you step on the Netherrack or soul sand, they instantly become hostile. Something to do with their territory…anyway, we just stick to the pathway, and they will not obstruct us."

I noticed that the pigmen would not touch the pathway at all; they wouldn't even attempt to cross over it, preferring to stay on their reddish brown soil. I was glad that they left us alone; it was bad enough that there was a horde of the beasts waiting for us at the door when we returned.

We were now lower than we started, down about a hundred feet over the boiling sea. Geysers of fire shot up thirty feet in the air, casting globules of burning liquid even higher. The heat was unbearable; it was like the hottest summer ever, but worse still. We were approaching what looked like a massive, hollow cuboid suspended over the magma, and I hoped that the interior would be slightly cooler than the outside.

"The fortress is right through that slit," Latner spoke to us, pointing to a small man-sized hole in the wall about ten feet above us. A staircase made out of stone brick led up to the aperture. "It'll be another quarter of a mile before we reach the actually fortress, but for all intents and purposes we are now in the danger zone."

"The danger zone?"

"It's the fortress. You didn't think we could waltz right in there, did you?" Latner asked. I stuttered, unsure of how to respond to this.

"No…the guardians of the fortress will not be too keen to let us pass through. Fiery demons…there's always more of them, no matter how many you kill. There are some safe passages, but it would be wise to follow my direction when it comes to the more open areas," Latner explained. He began to climb up the staircase, visibly handicapped by the massive sniper rifle.

"No wonder nobody ever wanted to come to this place. It's a goddamn deathtrap," Max groaned, ascending the stairs after Latner and I.

"It is dangerous, yes. But you are exaggerating. Stay with me, and you'll survive. I've been down here countless times, and the only thing I may have lost was my sanity."

I bit my tongue to keep from laughing; even the doctor himself admitted that he was a bit crazy, and there was no arguing about it now.

We stepped out from the slightly cooler interior and out into the harsh heat once more, facing a giant conglomeration of dark black bricks reminiscent of a castle from an old fairy tale. There were massive towers, huge walls, enormous support pillars and a large gate that would admit us into the complex. We stood about a thousand feet from the entrance; it was only a matter of a simple, short walk and we would be in the so-called "danger zone".

I remembered Latner's advice and stayed behind him as he led the way into the fortress via the brick pathway. The complex seemed deserted; there wasn't a single sign of life inside or outside, save a few pigmen stranded on a floating island below us.

"It seems empty…"

"For now. That will change soon," Latner responded to Max, who was the last one inside. The gates were open; there was nothing obstructing us from entering.

"The path to the breeding grounds is on the opposite side of the fortress. It's not a straight shot, either…I need each of you to take a different route and meet up at the central plaza…"

Latner directed me to a corridor that ran down from the left side of the entrance hall; Max went down the other way, and Latner disappeared down a staircase that was the only other way to leave the main hall.

We were split now; I had no idea why Latner divided us, but the fortress felt eerily similar to the sanitarium I was trapped in no more than an hour ago. This entire operation felt similar; crawling down a dark, dank hallway towards an objective that had never seemed more obscure. Nevertheless, I pressed onwards, hoping that this corridor led to the plaza that Latner spoke of.

The corridor opened up and became an open-air walkway; the red sky of the Nether swirled around the tops of the towers, and the red fog made visibility extremely poor. That may have been one of the reasons that I couldn't spot my attacker; I may have been so focused on reaching the tower ahead of me that I simply did not notice the three fiery missiles exploding behind me.

The explosions threw me flat on my stomach, knocking the wind out of me. I was caught unprepared, completely unaware; I had no idea what was attacking me. My first thought was that a ghast was attacking me; but I remembered the stories well, about the shriek that came before the fireball. There had been no shriek, just the roar of the explosion and the sudden burst of heat.

As I tried to get back up, I realized that my shirt was burning; I flopped down onto the bricks as another wave of fireballs streaked past, smashing into the rails that lined the walkway. Luckily I was able to put out the flames before they burned my flesh, and began to sprint down the rest of the walkway, trying to get a visual on my opponent.

Shrouded by reddish fog, the fiery figure had no legs, or arms for that matter; it was mostly flames, a small conglomeration of flame and smoke with eyes that burned brighter than anything I had ever seen, and small, burning rods revolving around it. I had no idea what it was; it seemed to be hesitating, as if it was waiting for me to make a move.

_Bad idea._

The sniper rifle cracked, knocking me backwards slightly. The round hit its mark, though; the floating menace was destroyed by the bullet, the rods blown outwards and the smoke and fire disintegrating as those eyes fizzled into nothingness. There must've been some sort of body hidden within that fire; otherwise the bullet would have shot straight through.

Shaken and in pain, the skin on my back still warm from the flames, I descended down the furthest tower and finally reached the plaza. I was evidently not the first human being to be there; there were skeletons all over the open area, littering the plaza alongside shell casings, magazines, discarded weapons and other assorted gear. It looked like it had been a massacre; there was no sign of any other creature or being at the scene.

A few second later, Latner emerged from a staircase at the far back of the room. He seemed unfazed by the scores of skeletons lying about, as if he had seen it before. Something told me he had seen it before.

"All of this—"

"Our first encounter with the blazes. Terrible fight; many of the men fell off the towers or walkways. Quite a few of them were trapped in here and massacred by the fiends."

"You mean those things? That thing that…attacked me?"

I was trying to recover my breath, having lost in during the skirmish with the fire creature Latner had called a "blaze".

"I told you we wouldn't go through this fortress unmolested. They don't take kindly to intruders here…how many did you have to take on?"

"Just one. But that was bad enough…" I gasped, sitting down against the tower's stairwell as Max came in from the far side of the room, nearly collapsing against a wall.

"They do not know we are here yet. They come out in great numbers if they figure out that there's an intruder. We should consider ourselves lucky," Latner spoke. He was dead serious, I could tell; it was quite obvious that he had had previous experiences with the blazes.

"Well, we must push on. We have a little more than seven hours on the clock. We can travel safely from here."

Latner showed us a passage that led far from the center of the fortress; it was dark, and felt like a furnace, but it was a welcome respite from the guardians who were almost certainly searching for us amongst the towers and turrets.

"Why did you help me?" I asked Latner when we were in view of Netherrack once more, clear of the fortress.

"Why?"

"You…did not protest, or complain. I never even really _asked _for your help…why did you?" I asked him.

He hesitated for a few minutes, and I waited for his answer.

"The world has gone to hell…common courtesy has been all but abandoned," Latner spoke, no longer eccentric but solemn and suppressed.

"And?"

"This might be my final act as a human being. The horde is at the door of my lab, I am working my way through this deathtrap once more…I figured it would be good to do someone a good favor before I died."

It sounded like bullshit to me; something to do with karmic balance, or some of that crap. But I was in no mood to argue with him; I was grateful that he was helping me, and in the end, he may be the one who saved Miguel's life.

"Anyway—"

"Hush…we're here."

We were on a cliff overlooking a massive open space the size of ten football fields. The creatures floating around in it were enormous, about the size of two monster trucks; giant, gelatinous white behemoths resembling jellyfish, their eyes tiny gray slits leaking small trails of a clear substance.

_Tears_.

"You two set yourselves up in the positions I give you. I've got the perfect plan to handle this."


	26. A Single Tear

The heat was unbearable; here, we were closest to the lava sea that seemed to carpet the lowest levels of the Nether. I was climbing up a solid wall of Netherrack, trying my best to not look down, and hoping that none of the ghasts noticed me.

In the massive spherical space walled in my massive chunks of Netherrack, open at the bottom and the top, at least two dozen of the "ghasts" were either floating around idly, cooing and moaning to themselves, or were lodged into compartments just their size, sleeping. All of them were crying passively; the tears flowed, but they did not seem to notice, or care. It was just another part of their life, and I needed those tears; even a single one would suffice.

My hand slipped momentarily, and I nearly let go with the other one; my heart skipped a beat, but I was able to recover without any problems, and was able to climb all the way up to the ledge that I was assigned to.

Dr. Latner had pointed out three ledges inside the breeding ground, each of them on a different "wall". Mine was the hardest to get to; the climb was nearly a hundred feet, unassisted, and although the Netherrack was relatively loose, it was still difficult to dig your hands in and hold on tight. My hands were covered in the reddish muck, and it had colored my fingernails and dirty scarlet.

We were supposed to try and collect the tears from a ghast without firing a shot; the gunfire would arouse them from their slumber, and we would have a hell of a fight on our hands. Instead of utilizing the massive sniper rifle, I was to sneak up to one of the sleeping behemoths, let some of their shiny tears flow into a vial, and retreat before any problems could arise. It sounded very simple, but I was exhausted from the climb, and the task seemed more Sisyphean by the moment.

There was no way for me to contact the others; their job was the same as mine, to collect their own tears. Max was camping out on a ledge, keeping an eye on both of us; I sincerely hoped that he was extremely alert, and would take down any threats before they presented a problem.

I caught by breath after sitting on the cliff for a few moments, and then proceeded to shimmy down the side of the wall on an eight-inch wide ledge, which threatened to crumble beneath my weight any minute now. The Netherrack was light and loose, and any large amount of weight would cause cracking and breaking, and possibly a collapse; I simply had to pray that I would remain safe, and hoped that my weight wouldn't send the entire ledge tumbling to the ocean below, taking me with it.

Thankfully, nothing of the sort happened; I was within twenty feet of a ghast before I knew it; it was lodged tight into a crevasse in the wall, its eyes shut. The tears were still pouring out, and it purred gently in its sleep, occasionally shaking the clean white tentacles that hung below it.

_I wonder how they know when to sleep…_

There didn't seem to be a night or day in the Nether; the sky was always red, it was always hellishly hot, and there was no difference in lighting as far as I could tell. Even if there was such a thing as nighttime darkness, the lava would offset most of its effects.

Even though I was extremely close to the sleeping giant, I had no way to reach the tears. It was torturous; watching those glistening drops roll down the ghast's gelatinous body, only to drop off and disappear into the fiery sea below.

_All those tears…gone to waste…_

I still had quite a bit of time, at least six hours; but I couldn't waste too much time. I had to think of a way to get to those tears…just one drop, that's all I needed.

Suddenly, the craziest idea was planted in my head. Before I could even think of the consequences, I found myself climbing up higher, pulling myself up into the wall until I was a good ten feet above the ghast. I half slipped, and half jumped off the wall and landed on the head of the beast, my feet sinking a bit into that great pudding of a body.

The ghast was awoken by the impact, as I had feared; as soon as I collapsed onto its head, it began to stir, waking with a groan and sleepy whimpers; I could feel a pulsating heart not far from where I lay, as the ghast lazily floated out of its hiding hole and rose up over the lava ocean.

_Oh shit…I'm actually riding one of these things…_

It continued to rise, and its disturbance had caused several other ghasts to wake, and they began floating around, moaning and whimpering as if communicating with one another. The one I was riding had no idea that it had a stowaway on top of it; I assumed that it had no nerves in its body, which _would _make it a giant floating cube of pudding.

Eventually, the creature settled down, and thankfully none of its companions noticed me hanging on for dear life on its head. It chose another cubbyhole to occupy, settling in and going to sleep again in about five minutes. I waited until I was sure that it was sound asleep, and then began to concoct a plan to retrieve the tears.

I had no idea where I was now, which wall I was on; I could've been completely separated from the other two, but I couldn't worry about that now. Desperate to grab the tears before the ghast woke again, I began to clamber down the side of the thing, holding on for dear life to the gelatinous head as my feet found a foothold in its cheek. I was close enough to reach out and snatch a few tears in the vial; my arms were shaking now, a combination of fear and exhaustion brought on by climbing earlier. I reached for my pockets and withdrew the plastic vial, relieved that it was not broken or harmed in any way. Carefully, my left arm shaking, I extended my right arm and picked up several tears.

As the drops flowed into the vial, collecting in a tiny pool at the bottom, my left hand slipped.

I was falling only momentarily, before my hand shot out again and grabbed onto a tentacle. The ghast roared; not screamed, not moaned, but roared in pain as I yanked one of the tentacles, holding on for dear life. My left hand grasped the shiny white tendril, and the other held onto the vial, which was slipping out. I stuffed the vial in my pocket, feeling my left hand lose grip, and quickly grabbed onto the tentacle with my right as the ghast, still in pain, attempted to loosen itself from its resting place, shaking its squishy body violently as if it was attempting to throw me off.

And it nearly did, spinning around in circles as it rose up in the air; after a few seconds, I could hold on no longer, and I was thrown onto a nearby ledge, pain lancing up my back as I hit the Netherrack wall hard.

I nearly blacked out, but was restored to consciousness when I realized that I was about to fall. The ledge was crumbling; so hard was my body's impact on it that the loose Netherrack was falling apart, and large chunks of it were tumbling into the lava. Desperate to escape, I ran along the ledge, ignoring the sounds of crumbling dirt behind me, and stopped only when I hit a dead end, unable to go any further. The remainder of the berm had held up, but I was faced with a new form of death as the ghast I had disturbed turned around, located me, and shrieked horribly, its eyes opening wide and glowing a furious red, like that of hot coals. Unable to do anything, my rifle abandoned where I had left it with Dr. Latner, I closed my eyes and waited for whatever would come.

The roar of the rifle nearly shattered my eardrums; it was no more than twenty feet above me, and it exploded like a bomb. The ghast in front of me roared again, not in anger but in pain, as something ripped into the area right between its eyes.

The gunfire had awoken some of the other ghasts, and they began to moan and cry as another bullet hit the same ghast; it was jerking violently back and forth, white froth sputtering from its mouth, and it began to fall, its tentacles waving violently as its form descended into the lava.

There were more gunshots, coming from above me, and I knew that one of my two companions was directly above me. Taking a leap of faith, I jumped off the ledge and grabbed onto the nearest wall, sinking my fingers into the dirt and pulling up with all my strength. I was a sitting duck here; I was barely climbing up the wall, struggling to find a foothold and propel myself up the vertical plane, and the ghasts were raging now, trying to find the source of their pain.

Another gunshot rang out, and another ghast sank into the lava, its tentacles flailing wildly before they disappeared beneath the fire. As I reached up for the top, feeling my strength fading and my feet beginning to slip, a strong hand grabbed my arm and hauled me up over the edge, pulling me onto a cool, flat surface.

"Do you have the tears?" someone shouted. I recognized it as Dr. Latner, who was crouched above me, still holding my arm. I looked up at him, nodded, and then collapsed back down into the dirt, exhausted.

"We need to get out of here, then! Get your ass up and GO!"

Latner had never seemed like a commanding figure, but his voice was seething with fury, and I was up on my feet once more, running down a natural stairwell made of more nether dirt. Latner ran behind Max and I, taking up the rear; the roaring and crying of the ghasts was deafening, and I was glad to return to the entrance.

"Take your rifle. We're not out of the clear yet," Latner ordered, tossing me my sniper rifle. He was dead serious now; he had passed off most of the Nether's dangers as slight obstacles earlier, but now I could tell we were facing a problem. Latner stared at the fortress in the distance, rather pensively.

"What—"

"The ghasts aren't done with us yet. They'll hunt us down…we've killed two of them, and they want revenge. The best thing we can do…the best thing we can do is lead them to the fortress. We can take cover in there, and maybe the blazes can aid us…"

"The blazes? Aid us?"

"They'll attack anything that enters their territory. Same goes for ghasts," Latner explained as we began to run back towards the fortress, which was a good half mile away from the breeding grounds.

It seemed like it took forever to reach the fortress again; my legs were exhausted, I was drained, and the screams were following us, the ghasts eager for vengeance. We were safe in the fortress for now, but we still had to get back to the portal, which was nearly two miles away.

"We need to hold them off for a bit…" Latner spoke hoarsely, clutching his knees. He was clearly drained of energy.

"Why? We've got a clear shot out of here—"Max argued.

"It'll be too dangerous. We won't have any cover, and the blazes will already be watching that area…the entrance…"

"So…we're stuck here?"

"No, no…there's an underground tunnel that the exploration team dug, one that leads right back to the portal complex…I need to reactivate the door settings…"

"So you want us to hold down the fort? Against an army of demons?" Max cried, grabbing Latner by the shoulders. "Are you fucking insane? We won't last—"

"That tower. Go to that tower…" Latner pointed to one of the towers rising over the fortress, as he began to proceed down the stairwell that he had used earlier.

"Can't you understand, we're—"

"GO. TO THAT DAMN TOWER," Latner seethed, clenching his teeth and throwing Max off before descending down the stairs once more. That was only the second time Latner had come off as intimidating; I decided it would be a good idea to follow his instructions, and make for the tower that he pointed out.

The ascent was grueling; we were literally crawling on our knees, wondering what the hell Latner was up to down in the "secret passageway". It would've been nice if we had used that earlier; I suppose the old coot hadn't thought of it when we left.

"Damn that old man…what's up here that's so valuable, anyway—"

As soon as we both reached the top of the tower, Max and I, our jaws dropped like a lead brick. There, overlooking most of the fortress was a massive SAM launcher attached to the floor, with several dozen backup warheads lined up against the railing. There were sacks of supplies, ammunition, and spare parts piled up against the launcher, which had collected no dust and seemed to be in working condition.

"We're going to kill those things…with a _missile launcher_?" Max mumbled, reminding me of a little kid on Notchmas, sitting in front of the tree with the most beautiful present ever.

"A surface-to-air missile launcher…well, I'll be…"

I was pretty much at a loss for words; we stood a fighting chance now, with a weapon that could target the flying beasts easily and take them down in one fell swoop.

"Are you—"

"No, I can't…I'll provide some support with the sniper. You do the honors," Max conceded, allowing me usage of the launcher. Already it was primed with four missiles in each of its four tubes; the guidance system was easy enough to use. It homed in on a target, in this case one of the blazes who had come out to see who was intruding on their territory, and told me when the missile was locked. All it took was a simple pull of a trigger, and a missile was jettisoned out of one of the tubes, slicing through the thick air of the Nether and smashing into its target without any trouble. The blaze was obliterated by the warhead; I felt giddy as I chose another target, and began to unleash hell upon the blazes patrolling the walkways below.

"When are we supposed to head back down?" Max asked, taking shots at as many blazes as he could.

"I don't know what the signal is…GHAST!"

One of the blobs had appeared on the horizon, floating menacingly towards the turrets of the fortress. Instead of allowing Max to waste a precious bullet, I aimed the launcher at the ghast, locked in and fired a missile. Though it did not have the same effect as it did on the blaze, the missile nevertheless did incredible damage, sending the ghast earthward as its gelatinous form began to collapse and disintegrate.

"If you hit them inbetween the eyes, they can't fly," Max said absentmindedly, as he reloaded the rifle. "Messes something up, I guess."

For the next few minutes, we picked our targets at will, taking a heavy toll on our opponents. They were unable to get a bearing on our location, as we were taking them down at a furious rate; my supplies were becoming depleted after a short while, and Max announced that his rifle was dry.

"That's it. I'm out," he proclaimed, tossing the rifle down and slumping by a burlap sack full of scrap.

I was running low on missiles as well; about half of the warheads were depleted, having taken out their fair share of ghasts and blazes. I was loading several more missiles in manually when Max grabbed me by the collar and hauled me down the stairs.

I hit the stone hard, almost knocking me unconscious; I tried to protest, but he kept on pulling me, and in a few seconds I realized why.

The top of the tower exploded with a deafening roar, blasting broken fragments of stone into the air and showering us with sharp bits of broken brick.

"What…what just happened…"

We were both coughing, choking from the ash and dust spewed into the air.

"I…just saw a fireball…there was no time to warn you…"

The entire top of the tower was blasted apart; I supposed that the fireball set off the other missiles as well, which would explain the larger explosion. We had no way to defend ourselves now; both of our rifles had most likely been annihilated.

"We need to get back down to Latner…head for that stairwell…"

We had no time to lose; the screams and moans were close, and the sides of the tower were rattled by smaller but still powerful explosions that shook dust loose from the brickwork. Even though we were exhausted, we were pushed on by adrenaline, and found our way to the plaza within a minute's time. Both of us had to dodge the blazes, as we had no weapons; their projectiles zipped past our heads as we ducked and rolled into the tight stairwell, praying that the demons couldn't fit inside.

We weren't being pursued into the tunnel; we were relieved to find Latner, working at a keyboard next to a large metal door, but our relief instantly dissipated when we told him what happened.

"You were supposed to wait for my signal! You…there's no way we can get out of here now, they'll catch us!"

Latner was tapping away at the keyboard at lightning speed now, sweat dripping off of his hair.

"They'll be coming down here any minute now…"

"They weren't following us when we came down here—"

"Did you even bother to look behind you?" Latner shouted. I hadn't taken a glance behind me; for all I knew, they could be around the corner that we passed. I could see light around the corner, and knew that that was fire from the blazes; they were following us, and they were catching up. To my relief, Latner had the door open, but as we began to run through, he stopped me.

"Leon. There's no way you're going to make it out of here if I don't hold them off."

"What do you—"

Latner opened up his rucksack, and showed me three small cubes of a grayish clay-like substance.

"You…can't be serious? You'll be killed—"

"Precisely. I'll take some of those bastards with me, too. The blast will collapse the tunnel, hopefully." Latner spoke, planting some of the C4 on the walls as he did so. Max was long gone, booking it down the secret escape tunnel.

"You don't have to do this—"

"I have no choice! You won't get out of here, they'll catch up!"

"You don't have to die for me—"

"I'm not dying for you, you prat! I have nothing else to live for—I've fulfilled my last wish, I've done someone a good deed, and now I'm going to die along with my research. Now get out of here—GO!"

I wasn't sure if Latner had gone overboard or not, but I rushed down that tunnel, not daring to look back.

I kept running, holding the vial in my pocket as I ran. The explosion reverberated throughout the tunnel, a hollow, echoing roar that lasted only a split second. There were no pursuers; the tunnel had been blocked, and they assumed that the trespassers had been killed now that Latner was dead.

Our group stumbled back, now consisting of two exhausted, injured men who took another hour to get back to the portal. We weren't quite sure how to use it; it seemed like Latner had simply walked through it, and it was worth a try.

"I don't know what will become of this place," Max mused, looking back at the research complex as we prepared to enter the portal.

"What do you mean?"

"Well…its caretaker's dead, and all this research will just be lying here. Seems like an awful waste."

For a Brotherhood raider, Max seemed very thoughtful and honest; I didn't think he was going back to the Brotherhood ranks anytime soon.

"It's a shame, it is. Maybe someday someone will find all of this. It'll still be here in the future."

Without looking back on the fiery landscape, we stepped into the portal and returned to the normal world, ready to face whatever awaited us on the other side.


	27. The Hidden Threat

**A/N: My profile has changed…again. I've just added more information about who I am, but still no name (for all you stalkers out there). Anyway, just putting that out there and big thanks to people who've been reading this, especially those who've reviewed!**

**Also, I found a fresh story on the Minecraft fanfiction site titled "**_**The Solution"**_**. I read the first chapter and…wow. It's a fresh spin on the old, worn traveling-into-the-world-of-Minecraft story, and I would definitely recommend that people read it. The author's pen name is ****Crimea****, so look out for his fic on the site. **

We returned to the regular world, breathless, our clothing dank with sweat and our hair plastered to our foreheads. We had made it out alive; Latner had sacrificed himself to allow us to escape, and although I was thankful for his final act, I couldn't help but feel survivor's guilt.

"Never…make me step back through that portal," Max spoke, stumbling out of the purplish light. We were back in the underground complex; how we were going to escape with the pigmen gathered at the door, I had no idea. But we were safe for now, safe from the dangerous landscape of the Nether.

"We'll never be going back. _Never_."

"We still have to get out of here, though…"

"We have time. They can't get through the door," I reassured him. We rested for a bit, sitting down against the wall opposite the portal. The strange light was entrancing, but it no longer called to me; I couldn't hear the voices anymore. Perhaps it was satisfied with my visit; it sounded crazy, but after my previous experience, nothing could _really _be crazy anymore. Not in comparison to my Nether journey.

"We might as well try for the door," I suggested after we had sat for a few minutes. My muscles protested as I rose up off the floor, and I had to drag my aching body up to the front door, where the banging had subsided. Either the pigmen were waiting for us, or they had given up trying to ram the door. Both sounded unlikely; they didn't seem intelligent enough to plan even a simple trap. To my surprise, a gentle knock came from the door, barely audible from the back of the lobby.

"Was that…a knock?" Max asked, bemused. It came again, louder this time, as if someone _was _actually knocking at the door. Hesitantly, I opened the door to the complex, and relief washed over me like a wave of cool water.

There stood everyone that I had entered the Sanitarium with; the entire group was gathered there. Caldwell stood in front of them, slightly bloodied but otherwise fine. Lance had a large tourniquet wrapped around his upper arm, and Paul looked exhausted. He still had not lost his biting cynical attitude.

"Well…had a nice nap down here, kid?" Paul sneered, wiping sweat from his brow. I didn't answer him; Dr. Caldwell's greeting was far more amiable.

"We were afraid we'd lost you, Leon," he spoke softly, entering the lobby. "This is the end of Bailey...I just never knew that the entire complex was here…"

Caldwell was the one most interested in the area; Darius and Lance showed some interest, glancing idly around at the sterile interior, and Paul was still standing outside, looking bored as he flipped the safety of his gun on and off.

"Where's Marcus?"

"He's off hunting the rest of the pigmen. Something _I _wanted to do…" Paul was sneering again, as if he thought he deserved to be with Marcus. "But I had to come down here. He'll finish the remainder of the bacon off."

"Incredible…I knew so much about this, but I was never privileged to come down here. Where is Dr. Latner?" Caldwell asked, and my stomach shriveled up.

"He's…dead…"

Caldwell wasn't overcome with grief, but he was taken aback.

"Dead? How did he—"

"We had to go into the Nether to get the tears…he died trying to get the tears back here."

I removed the tiny vial of glistening liquid from my pocket. The plastic was in perfect condition, having survived the dangerous trip from the Nether.

"Well…that's a shame…I knew he was sealed up here, and I was hoping to get a chance to speak to him…"

Caldwell was by no means depressed; but I could sympathize with his loss, having lost my guide and aide.

"Anyway, we need to head back. I'll have my men examine this place and see if they can find anything useful."

The entire group shuffled out of the complex, leaving the door open, and we began to head back to the entrance. The hallway was littered with pigman corpses; those were the ones who had tried to ram down the door, and I assumed that they had trouble getting to us.

"You must've arrived just in time to hear me knocking," Caldwell spoke as we power-walked back. "We had a hell of a time getting down here—all flights of stairs were booby-trapped, and the pigmen were everywhere. Marcus is finishing off the last of them, so he'll be back in his own time."

By the time we reached the main area, Marcus was sitting against one of the walls, lighting a cigarette as he relaxed.

"They're all dead. The place should be clear of everything but traps," he reported back to Caldwell, who seemed pleased at the results.

"I'll have a team come in here to clean up the place, and then scavenge the laboratory for anything useful," Caldwell said to nobody in particular.

We returned to the sewer, where a maintenance team was taking the power packs from the mining laser, stowing them away in a couple of crates along with other supplies.

"Wait here a minute—I've got some orders to give," Caldwell told us. The group spread out around the mining laser; none of us spoke to one another. We were all dead tired, and we still had to reach Miguel before the bromine set into his system. We had plenty of time, but I wanted to have enough leeway in case something went wrong.

As I glanced over to the crates, I noticed Caldwell had taken one of his soldiers over behind the stack of supplies and was talking to him in a hushed voice. I crept close to them, leaning up against the crates lazily to disguise my eavesdropping as simple boredom.

"—the chance that there's something like that in there is—"

"But it's a chance, Joseph! Even the slightest chance that they're in there…we wouldn't have to worry about power anymore, we'd have a modern wonder than would bring people flocking under our banner—"

"I don't like it, sir. I'm sorry, but…the odds are way against us, and that kind of power…"

"All I'm asking is that you search for it, Captain. If it's not there, fine. But Latner was involved with Kagsttrom…the odds are, slim as they might be, that he might have one, and it's worth investigating…"

As the two stepped out from behind the crates, they did not notice me; I reintegrated myself into the conglomeration of people seamlessly as Caldwell summoned our group and offered to lead us back to the stronghold.

As we left the darkness of the sewers, Caldwell's words haunted me. I knew that man…

_Kagsttrom…the same man he had mentioned before. The man whose note I possessed_.

I was torn between telling Caldwell about that note, and keeping it to myself. I decided that, for the time being, it was better off in my possession.

xXXXXXXXXXXXx

We were back in a half hour flat, thanks to the truck that brought out group back to the stronghold. Paul, Marcus and I were dropped off at the sidewalk, and the truck roared away as we entered the lobby, the vial of tears clutched tightly in my fist.

The infirmary was nearly empty, except for Dr. Itliano, Conor, Celine and Rina. Conor was busy fixing up another potion, working furiously at this still, and William was sitting by Miguel's bedside, taking a short break from his labors. Rina was asleep in one of the cots, covered up rather loosely; Celine, who had thrown on some clothes since I had left, was sitting by her beside, looking rather pale and wan. Our arrival heightened spirits considerably.

"Excellent…this is excellent…I need about half an hour to fix up the potion, and then it's all downhill from here," Conor mumbled excitedly, swiping the vial from my outstretched hand. He said nothing more to me; William dismissed us rather drowsily.

"That is…all we'll need," he yawned, waving us away. "He'll be awake and healthy by morning."

Paul and Marcus both left, grumbling. I stayed behind only for a minute.

"I'm going to sleep with her tonight. She's so stressed about Miguel…I want to stay with her for the night," Celine told me as I approached her.

I wasn't incredibly tired; I was physically exhausted, but the adrenaline rush from earlier had left me wide awake, and bed was the last place I wanted to be right now. As I left the infirmary, I caught up with Marcus, and asked him something that probably would've got me killed.

"Mind if I have a drink?"

His face screwed up momentarily, like he had never been asked that question. Instead of chewing me out, or simply ignoring me, he affirmed.

"Yeah…sure…I could use some spirits."

We were the only ones on the top floor; everyone else was in bed or in the infirmary. Marcus took a bottle of whiskey from his special cabinet, poured both of us a shot glass full of it, and led me to the balcony, where we sat, overlooking the street below. The tall, ghostly ruins of downtown rose above us, barely visible in the pitch-black night sky. Ash was falling gently, adding to the light layer already on the balcony.

"I noticed that you snuck away from us earlier. Eavesdropping on Caldwell?" Marcus asked, downing his glass in a single swig. I was more conservative with my alcohol; however, I wasn't a habitual drinker, unlike him.

"Well…yes…"

"Nothing wrong with that, the way I see it," he said, pouring himself another glass. "He hides quite a few secrets, I can tell. What did you hear from him?"

"Not enough to make sense. I heard some snippets…something he's looking for…but not much else," I lied, refusing to mention the note or Dr. Kagsttrom.

"Fair enough. At least you tried. Someday we'll figure out what he's up to…I can't trust him; he's putting on a show if you ask me. He's got other motives…not necessarily bad ones, just ulterior motives," Marcus said.

"How can you be so sure?"

"It's just a wild guess. I can figure people out by their looks or their speech, and he just doesn't seem too trustworthy to me," Marcus answered.

"He's led us this far…there's no reason not to trust him."

"Like I said, gut instinct," Marcus grunted, downing his second glass.

I was aware of another presence in the room as Marcus poured yet another glass. I turned around to see Herobrine standing against the counter, watching us.

"How long have you been there?"

"A few minutes. I just arrived," he spoke lazily, his white eyes providing the only light in the room besides the nightlight on the far wall.

"Did you bring a message or something?" I asked him as he took a seat beside me. Marcus was unfazed; he noticed the presence of a new character in the room, studied him momentarily, and then resumed drinking.

"Your recent expedition caused problems…you didn't know, so Notch doesn't blame you—"

"Problems? What…kind of problems?" I asked him, concerned.

_Did I screw something up? What did I do wrong?_

"When you entered the Nether…well, let me put it this way. When someone from one dimension crosses over to another, it causes something akin to a blackout for Notch. He cannot see, he cannot think, he cannot feel, if only momentarily. Your expedition caused this, and he was afraid that something terrible had happened while he was not there to guide the turn of events."

I felt terrible; had I really caused a whole new problem simply by trying to save my friend's life?

"Is it…actually a problem?" I asked, my voice shaky.

"Not as much as he previously thought. You did cause a blackout, but it's not too big. My brother has been…paranoid, lately, to use a kind term. He believes that there is a great danger lurking on the horizon, something that has failed to show itself yet. He can sense it—my brother's senses never lie—but he cannot detect what it is." Herobrine said.

So…there was a threat to the world, as I understood it. And my adventure caused Notch to lose track of it?

"It is not a huge problem. He just wanted to mention it to you. Every time someone has gone into the Nether, this has happened—but there has been no time quite as critical as this. You may not realize it, but what you do in the next week may change the fate of your people."

And with that, Herobrine was gone. He hadn't just stepped back and ran out the door, he had _vanished_. I assumed that, like the Endermen, he had just teleported away, and I assumed that was how he reached us in the first place.

"So…a legend from thousands of years ago shows us, tells you a prophecy of doom and gloom, and then just vanishes?"

Marcus was taking the entire situation in stride; he had accepted the fact that Herobrine was real, much more smoothly than I had, and he had put the entire problem together in a simple sentence.

"Yeah…that's about it," I answered quietly, rubbing my eyes. The adrenaline was starting to wear off, and I could feel sleep trying to overtake me.

I said no more on the subject; it was time for me to get some sleep. Dawn would be approaching soon, and I assumed that my daily duties would be given to someone who _had _received a good night's sleep.

I was plagued with troubles, however; it would be easy for me to sleep, given my exhaustion, but I couldn't shake the fear that gripped me, the fear of this threat that Herobrine had alluded to.

Despite my anxiety, I drifted into a solid state of sleep within ten minutes of hitting the sack, and slept well until early dawn…

"_I cannot focus…there is something clouding my vision of the world…"_

"_Is it…the ash, brother?"_

"_No, no, not the damned ash. I could see through that like clear glass, it's not a problem. I don't know why I cannot see the world like I normally can…it's mind-boggling…"_

"_This is the danger you spoke of?"_

"_Possibly…I've been feeling the disturbances, and I believe that the entire world is in danger. I cannot be sure…it's only a gut instinct, but I've learned to trust my gut more than my mind. There is a threat to my world somewhere out there, and I fear that I will not be able to stop it in my current state."_

"_Leon Walker is your eyes and ears, brother…he can be put to great use. He would be willing to provide you the information that you need."_

"_He has proven to be a good asset, and I cannot go on without him. I will require his aid for the time being…I am going to retire to Earth for now, in order to clear my mind. I leave care of Leon in your hands, my brother. Make sure that he stays alive, but do not interfere directly."_

"_Of course…I shall keep a vigil over him…as you command."_


	28. The Insider

**Hi all! It's been awhile since the last chapter (at least for me), mostly due to the pressure of taking care of my younger sister, preparing for SATs, and playing a **_**lot **_**of Team Fortress 2. Anyway, this means that there will be a slight increase in the time it takes me to upload the latest chapter, if anyone even cares.**

**Also, I'm on the fence about answering reviews. It's not that I dislike the reviews, I'm just not sure whether I want to do it or not. I love having reviews, though; so no offense if I'm not answering you or anything. If you REALLY have a question, PM me, and I'll be happy to respond to you.**

There was almost no sunlight filtering through the window; it was almost as dark as nighttime was, with just a few rays of light weaving their way through the thick blanket of ash and clouds. Thunder boomed in the distance; the approaching storm was probably the reason that it was darker than usual.

I figured my first stop would be to the infirmary, even before breakfast; I needed to know how Miguel was doing; I knew that he was alive and breathing, but I wanted to see if he had regained consciousness. I dressed rather nicely today; I didn't feel like throwing on a shabby outfit like I normally did.

The hallways were almost completely empty; strangely, I saw two Capricorn guards strolling down the stairs from the tenth floor, talking in hushed whispers. They glared at me angrily as I passed, as if expecting me to eavesdrop on whatever conversation they were having. It was not in my interest; I passed them as quickly as I possibly could, and made my way to the infirmary.

Miguel was conscious, and he was wolfing down a plate of steaming scrambled eggs, seasoned with a little bit of cracked pepper. William was nowhere to be seen, and neither was Conor; the only other people in the infirmary were both unconscious, Art still lying immobile on his cot and Rina asleep in one of the beds, the covers tossed half-heartedly over her half-naked body.

"She'll be out for a while, I'm sure," Miguel spoke, his mouth full of food. He gulped the rest of the egg down and set the plate on an adjacent table.

"Are you feeling okay?" I asked him, sitting down by his bedside.

"Well…that depends…"

"Better than yesterday?"

"Much better," he responded. "I'm still a bit woozy, and I feel like all my energy's been sapped, but I'm alive. That counts for something, doesn't it?"

He chuckled at his own joke; I feigned a smile. I didn't find the entire ordeal funny at all.

"Well…when she gets up, I'll have my hands full. Your duties haven't been suspended, so—"

"What do you mean?" I asked him, feeling my stomach drop. "I thought…today was a rest day for me…"

"Ari said otherwise, I heard him mention it as he was walking up the stairs. He's up in the common room now, but I wouldn't go up there," Miguel said.

"Why…is he…doing something?"

"He went up there with Dr. Caldwell and ordered the door to be closed. The door to the common room is never closed, so this must be important."

Miguel had no more to say on the subject; I was concerned about carrying out my duties on a lack of sleep, but I was more concerned about what was happening up on the tenth floor. There was not a soul in sight going up the stairs; the door was indeed closed, but upon inspection, was not locked.

Gently, I nudged the door open just slightly, enough to see inside and hear what they were talking about.

"—any information you have would be very useful, Mr. Kulovka. You underestimate the potential this…thing…has—"

"And how would you know?"

"I worked with Dr. Kagsttrom, sir. I shared some of the knowledge of his research, and we may have stumbled upon something important, more important than what might be inside Riverside."

"Riverside's full of supplies, food, ammunition…how can this snipe hunt be more important?!"

Ari was angry, his accent showing through more than usual, as if he were unable to control it.

"When did you see this note you mentioned? If it did belong to Dr. Kagsttrom, then I need to see it…" I heard Caldwell say.

"I found it while going through Leon's belongings last night. I read it, contacted you…and that's it…"

My stomach sank even lower, and I felt like vomiting.

_Shit…they found the note. Why was Ari picking through my stuff?_

"Then we will speak to Mr. Walker about it, no information withheld…"

"I believe we already have him in our presence, Dr. Caldwell."

They had noticed me; or, at least, Ari had noticed me.

"Very well, then. Come on in, Leon…we need you anyway. I will forgive your eavesdropping for now."

Caldwell had a tone of voice that sounded like an unhappy parent scolding a misbehaving child. I slowly slunk into the room, closing the door tightly behind me.

"Lock it, Leon. We don't want any more uninvited guests," Ari ordered. I did so, throwing the deadbolt and effectively locking us inside the common room.

Ari and Caldwell were standing around, with Mouse and Captain Barcelona flanking the doctor and Marcus standing at Ari's side. I joined the latter, standing before the assembly of the Capricorn personnel.

"Well, now…Leon, I want you to be honest. The truth may hurt, but there is no gain without pain," Caldwell spoke plainly, referring to an old saying. "Tell me how you came about this note, what you know about it, and where you found it. We have it right here."

Ari reluctantly withdrew a crumpled slip of paper from his pocket, holding it up before me. I fought the rising bile in my stomach and agreed to tell the entire truth, as if I were under oath.

"When I first came to Langsford Peak…I found a house in a suburban neighborhood, close to the city limits. I…took shelter there, hoping to find some supplies, and I found…a body, Dr. Kagsttrom, in one of the pantries."

I shuddered to remember the horrific incident, the shotgun blast destroy the decomposing corpse of Dr. Kagsttrom a couple of weeks ago.

"And? Did he have the note on his corpse?" Caldwell interrogated, stroking his chin thoughtfully.

"He did…he had it stowed in his shirt pocket. I…don't know how old it was…"

Caldwell was still curious, as if he was expecting to hear more.

"What is all this about? It makes absolutely no sense," Ari spat, throwing up his hands. Caldwell seemed more than happy to oblige his request to explain.

"I think the time has come for me to share my information with you. As I've stated before, I've worked with Dr. Kagsttrom. We were working to find a power source that would be technically 'infinite'…"

"What do you mean infinite? Like, always giving off power?" Ari asked.

"Not necessarily…it would produce enough power that the demand would never overrun the supply. There is no such thing as infinite energy, but there are a few things that can provide such an immense amount that it seems endless. That was what we were searching for," Caldwell continued.

"When the Nether was discovered, and the magnetic pulse from another, unknown dimension were discovered with it, we believed that we could find what we were looking for in the other dimensions. The first one you have visited…just last night, in fact…"

Caldwell was referring to me.

"But we found nothing in the Nether to power anything. The second dimension was incapable of being breached; the Nether was easy to enter and exit, but we could find no way to enter the second one, what we called 'The End'. It was there, alright, and there was a way to get to it, but we needed _just _enough power to breach it. That's what the note refers to."

"The fusion reactor?" I asked.

"Yes…the experimental fusion reactor in Connaught Falls had enough power to breach the curtain and allow us access to the End, according to our equations. Unfortunately, politics got in the way."

"The government shut you down," I said, remembering the note.

"They shut the reactors down. Said they cost too much money…when in fact, they saved more than the coal plants are were far more sustainable. Lobbyists…but that's beside the point. Dr. Kagsttrom's work is far more important than you might believe," Caldwell spoke. Ari, however, did not agree.

"Well, whatever this is, this does not concern my people. We just need supplies and food, that's all…we don't need to be going out on a wild goose chase after some artifact—"

Ari was cut off rather rudely.

"But it does concern you, Mr. Kulovka…the future of your…_our_…people rests with this breakthrough."

"How so?" Ari asked, raising one eyebrow.

"An infinite source of energy, Mr. Kulovka…_think about it_," Caldwell hissed, irritated by Ari's inability to grasp the bigger picture. "We would free our reliance on gasoline and coal…it would give us the power to start a new civilization in these ruins, to not only survive, but _thrive_," Caldwell put emphasis on the last word.

"My goal is to take care of these people…not necessarily to thrive. If that is your goal, Dr. Caldwell, then so be it," Ari spoke, rebuking the latter. "But I will restate my point—I will _not _go out on a wild goose chase. You have no idea where to begin, and I think you underestimate the obstacles that are in your path to achieving this goal. You can't just build a fusion reactor here…what would you do? _Where _would you start?"

"I know exactly where to start. The finish line might be unclear, but that does not deter me."

Caldwell was firm and pointed; Ari still refused, shaking his head without a word.

"I understand. I will only ask of you to assist me in searching Mr. Kagsttrom's home. That is where I will begin…if you do not wish to help further, that is your decision," Caldwell ceded to Ari. The latter approved.

"I shall help. Marcus and I will accompany your group…but _that _is it. We will have no more to do with this after today."

Caldwell once more agreed, bowing his head a bit.

"I accept…although it saddens me that I cannot rely on your help, I respect your decision to protect your community. I will request your help just for today."

Once he finished speaking to Ari, he turned to me.

"Anything else you can tell us, Leon, will be incredibly beneficial. If you have any other information regarding the house—"

"No…there's nothing else…"

I did not lie outright, but I didn't mention anything else about the house. The front door was still barricaded, and I had shuffled some things around during my short occupation.

"Very well. We'll be off…the more time we have to examine the area, the better. Anything we might find can help us."

Caldwell and his followers were first out the door, followed by Marcus; as Ari left, he grabbed me by the shoulder to speak to me.

"You're in charge right now, Leon. Take care of the place…I should be back by sundown."

He was off then, leaving the door open behind him, and leaving me alone in the common room. I stood there for a few minutes, pondering what I would do for the rest of the night. I wished to pay another visit to the infirmary, to see if Miguel's status was any better.

As I returned to the ninth floor, I heard angry voices, both of them coming from the infirmary. The two Capricorn guards were gathered at the door, looking inside; Ari and the others were nowhere to be seen, having left already on their scavenging mission. I pushed past the two armed guards, who were intent on watching the scene inside. It appeared to me that Paul and Miguel were arguing; the former was standing over the latter's bed, his hands gripping the rim tightly, his knuckles white and his face twisted angrily.

"Is there…a problem?" I asked, and all faces turned to me. I realized that Rina, Dr. Itliano and Conor were all in the room as well, shying away from the argument.

"You're damn right there's a problem…"

Paul started, but William, being a calm, controlled person, stopped him mid-sentence and approached me. He seemed to silence Paul with a simple hand on the shoulder; the latter was still fuming, but kept his silence.

"I have been party to this dispute…I'll try my best to explain it without bias. Mr. Marino disapproves of Miguel's…relationship…with her," William referred to Rina, who was still undressed but at Miguel's bedside nonetheless, appearing to be on the verge of tears.

"That's the worst—"

"I explained it without bias, Paul. Something you could never do."

Despite his menacing features and clenched fists, Paul did not lash out at Dr. Itliano; the doctor had remained calm, explained the situation, and returned to his work in the back of the room, monitoring Art's breathing equipment.

"So…where's Ari?" Conor asked, looking up from his brewing station; he was fiddling with some of the equipment, apparently ignoring most of the argument.

"Ari's gone…he's out on a mission with Dr. Caldwell. He left me in charge."

The reactions around the room were mixed; Paul snorted mockingly, Miguel's staunch face lit up a bit, Conor was taken aback, and William looked up from his work briefly before returning, as if nothing had happened.

"Oh good…the junior leader's in charge, we're all safe now—"

"Stop mocking him, Paul," Miguel spat. He was still bedridden, but he had lost his pallor and was now looking as healthy as ever, even under a layer of blankets.

"I'm not done with you. We ain't over yet," Paul answered, returning his attention to Miguel.

"I told you—"

"I know what you told me, and I don't like it, not one bit," Paul said, gripping the rim of the bed once more.

"I'm sorry…I still don't understand what all of this is about—"

I butted in, and was immediately received by Paul, whose face was shining a furiously angry red as he turned to me.

"I'm not going to allow my right-hand man to have a relationship with that bitch!"

Rina gasped, her teary eyes turning upwards to Paul, who hadn't backed down a bit.

"I don't want to paint myself as a villain here, but Miguel's my man! He takes my orders, lives under my command…and I'm not going to allow him to see her anymore! I don't like her, I don't like your people, and I live with you all only because it's safer here!"

Paul allowed himself to breathe a bit, his knuckles gripping the rim once more. He turned to Miguel again.

"If you don't dump her, I leave. It's either her or me, Miguel. Make your choice by tomorrow," Paul spat. "You either stay here or go with me. I'll go alone if I have to," he addressed the last part to Conor, who hadn't looked up from his alchemy set. Paul stormed out of the room, pushing the two Capricorn guards away as he stalked down the hall.

I turned back around to Miguel, who was holding Rina's head to his chest; she was crying, her sobs muffled by the blanket over Miguel's body.

"It's your call—"

"I'm not going to leave her. He can go to hell if he wants," Miguel fumed, stroking Rina's dark black hair comfortingly. "I'll stay with her."

I turned to ask Conor, but he was already gone; I had no idea where he went, but he had left all of his supplies strewn on his desk.

"It's none of my business. I agree with Miguel, but I'm staying out of this," William spoke from across the room. I turned back to Miguel one last time.

"You'll have to face Paul again, and tell him your decision," I told him.

"I'll face that bastard a thousand times if I must. I never really liked him…my place is here now anyway," he answered. Rina was already settling into his bed, throwing the covers over herself; the Capricorn troops had dispersed, and I decided it was time to leave the infirmary, time to rest.

As I walked further down the hallway, I noticed the lights on in the storage room down below, and I could hear a lone voice from inside. Intrigued, I crept down to the door, leaning up against the wall and peering inside the room.

"—not too long ago, I think. I just heard about it a couple of minutes ago, so they should be about a third of the way there if they're taking a vehicle."

It was Conor, talking to someone…but he was alone in the room. There was no other voice, not that I could hear…_was he talking on a phone_?

"They're almost certainly taking a vehicle. He's with Capricorn people…I don't know how many, I'm not privy to this shit! Just send as many as you can spare, it's the biggest opportunity you have—"

"Conor?"

He dropped the cell phone, jumping nearly a foot in the air as he turned around.

"Er…yes? How can I—"

"Who is it?"

He was silent. I picked up the cell phone, holding it gently.

"I'm not going to play games with you. Who is it?"

"Go to hell," he hissed, making no move against me.

I brought the receiver up to my ear, holding the other end against my cheek.

"Hello? Who is this?" I asked, gripping the device tightly.

"And might I ask who this is? You cannot possibly be Conor…"

_That voice…I've heard it before…the night that the Brotherhood made themselves known. This is their leader…the man who visited us after the cistern._

"I recognize you…" I said quietly, paying almost no attention to Conor, who was moving very slowly in my peripheral vision.

"And I recognize your voice as well. You cannot be Mr. Walker, can you?" the voice inquired.

"I…yes…and you are—"

"You know who I am. Naturally, I will not reveal my name, since you do not know it already. But you know very well who I am—"

The phone was thrown out of my arm as the elbow slammed into my face, throwing me backwards and sending me reeling into the wall. I hit the drywall hard, my back burning as it hit the hard surface of the wall. My vision was blurry, I was confused, but I was still in control, and was able to dodge the second and third blows, slipping down as two fists came in one after the other, with enough force to break the drywall. They did, smashing the weak surface as my attacker threw his full force into the blows, almost hitting the wall himself.

The phone was long forgotten as I turned around just in time to receive a blow to my stomach, a heavy foot that took the wind out of me. Unable to strike back, and still reeling from the previous attacks, I ducked beneath a powerful elbow and dove for my attacker's legs, grabbing them and pulling him to the ground with me. Once I had him on the ground, I struggled to get a mount on him, to control his body. I tried to reach for a nearby box cutter knife, to try to force my opponent to surrender, but before I could get it, the tables were turned once more.

I underestimated Conor's strength and fighting prowess; my vision was clear, but he bucked his hips almost instantly and sent my flying up in the air, attempting to come down and get a mount on me, preparing his arms to smash my face in. My first instinct was to jerk my knee up with almost superhuman speed, right into his manhood; the blow was not enough to defeat my opponent, but it left him stunned for a moment, allowing me to throw him off with my legs and try to reach again for the box cutter. As Conor thrashed around my legs, trying to grab ahold of one and drag me back, I grasped the orange handle of the knife, ready to do whatever I needed to, even if it meant killing him.

Conor jerked with all his strength, pulling me back towards him. I used this to my advantage; I knew that one of us would not survive this fight, and _I _wanted to be the one who lived to tell the tale. I used the force to my advantage; as my arm swung back, so did the knife; Conor was lying on his back, preparing to pull me towards him and towards his raised knee. Even though the knee hit my stomach, taking the wind out of me again and darkening my vision, my arm kept going, bringing the box-cutter right into his throat.

His arms slacked, his grip was no longer strong; I stayed strong, keeping conscious as I withdrew the knife and brought it down again. His eyes lost their light, no longer focused and deadly but distant and dying, no longer moving and understanding. His breathing ceased almost instantly as he choked silently on his own crimson blood, his arms and legs thrashing in their final moments.

Conor fell silent, stopped moving, and his blood pooled beneath his body, pouring out of the massive gash in his throat. He made no noise as he died; his vocal chords had been severed by the knife, and he died without another sound, his body as limp as a wet noodle, the blood soaking his shirt and hair. Luckily, almost miraculously, the cellular phone remained untouched, still lying on the ground. Exhausted, almost unconscious, I retrieved the phone, and put it back to my ear once more.

"Is anyone…still there?"

"Ah…I was wondering where you went. I heard the struggle, yes…and I assume the outcome was in your favor?" the Brotherhood leader spoke, unfazed by the sounds of struggle and death.

"He tried to bloody kill me…he was going to beat me to death, I had to kill him—"

"It's unfortunate that he has died, but I'm glad that you're alive. I have much more to discuss with you, Mr. Walker."

"And I have a hell of a lot of things to discuss with you…you posted him here, didn't you? He was never on our side—"

"No, he was not," the leader answered succinctly, happy to reach a point. "I planted him in Paul's group as they entered the city, hoping that they would gravitate towards your small community. I also have a mole inside the Capricorn crew…"

"He told you about the expedition, didn't he?" I asked, breathless.

"I'm sorry?"

"The bastard…told you about Ari's expedition. That's what he was talking about when I came down here…"

I heard a slight snigger at the other end, almost mocking.

"Well, well…I didn't even have to tell you. As soon as Conor heard about your leader's departure, he was off to rat on him. He's been telling me all about your community's missions…all the ones that he knew about…"

"That's how you were so prepared when we raided the storage area…you knew," I hissed, almost whispering.

"Indeed. And now that you've figured it out, you're too late. We're ready for your expedition, and my people hope that an agreement can be made."

"What kind of—"

"I'll see you soon, Mr. Walker. I'm almost positive."

The line cut out immediately; my pulse pounding, my brain on the edge of consciousness, I knew that I had to act, and quickly. There was no time left; leaving Conor's bloody body in the storage room, I rushed back up towards the top floors, praying that I would be able to stop the trap from springing.

xXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXx

"This threat you speak of…you haven't told me anything about it. I need to know, Mr. Persson, what this is all about."

Markus Persson sat before the United Nations Emergency Security Panel, sweat running down his forehead. The threat he could not perceive was materializing inside his digital world, and although he could not see it, or understand it, he knew it existed, and that its consequences would affect more than his world.

"I…do not know yet. I cannot tell…it is something so advanced, I have not been able to understand it—"

"Is it real, or not? We need to know, the sooner the better."

Secretary-General Ban Ki-moon had always been a trustworthy, honest individual that had been a solid foundation of the United Nations. Markus had always looked up to him as a symbol of justice and democracy in a troubled, warring world.

"Like I said…the threat is there, and it's growing inside the world—"

"Mr. Persson, we've been speaking to you for years now. Ever since you've developed this digital world of yours, we've kept up with you. It's an incredible creation, one that will surely influence further developments. And it's _your _creation…why can't you stop it?" the Secretary-General spoke, his mellifluous voice calm and reassuring, despite the problem facing him.

"The inhabitants…are self-aware, they are sentient. They've grown beyond the point at which I know everything they've done. They're creating something…that is the threat, something the people have created—" Persson spoke.

"And you have no idea what this is?"

"No idea at all…ever since the disasters—"

"The ones that you created," Ki-moon said dryly.

"Yes…I destroyed my civilization, just like I would destroy a toy city that I had built. Just to experiment." Persson admitted.

"A cruel thing to do to a sentient race. Even if they are digital."

"I understand, but we cannot focus on the past right now. I have a problem, and I must deal with it—"

"I hope you will, Mr. Persson," the Secretary-General warned. "If this problem materializes, and affects our world, you will answer for any destruction or death that it causes. You will be responsible for the mess you've created."

Markus was afraid that this would happen; the UN was not happy with the events in the simulation, something that they had once seen as a "modern marvel". Now they saw it as a monster, something that would threaten them all, and some of them were even calling for its complete obliteration.

_Even by my standards, that's harsh. I simply destroyed their civilization…these bastards want to delete the entire world…_

"I have people on the inside…residents of this world, I am in contact with. They can change the course of events inside the world, they can tell me what's wrong…and I can fix it," Markus assured.

"I hope so, Mr. Persson. I will speak with you again in a week, to hear an update on the situation. Do not let me down."

The council was being dismissed; Markus was glad to be out of the spotlight, able to return to his private matters and his own world.

"I remember when Minecraft was nothing but a computer game, Markus," the Secretary-General spoke as the man turned to leave the building. "It's sad to see that it has been developed into a threat to the security of our world."

Markus nodded in agreement, turning to leave the building without another word. It was still a game, yes; but he had brought it further, creating an entire simulated world out of it. He needed to speak to his brother, and he prayed that Leon Walker was still alive in the simulation, still able to do what needed to be done.


	29. The Ender Pearl, Part I

**If this seemed like it took quite a long time to come out, I apologize. I was bedridden for two days with a nasty fever, and then had intense schoolwork to catch up on, so I had very little time for anything else. So, my terrible excuse :(**

**And I will start to respond to reviews now, having held off on that for quite a while. This will always take place right at the beginning. And, for future notice, I WILL NOT be responding to anonymous or guest reviews. Only people that have a name will be responded to.**

**REVIEW RESPONSES:**

**woohooman14: I can see the resemblances between this and Tron. You make a good point, but it was entirely accidental that it happened that way. I don't take much inspiration from Tron.**

**HPE24: He IS an awesome person, just because he is. And yes, Conor's dead…I'm starting to kill off some of the characters, like I mentioned sometime before. I don't remember when :P. And Paul has his reasons for being mean like that. I'm not trying to paint him as a villain here, but he just doesn't like Rina…he doesn't like most people.**

**PigeonFligher: Glad to hear you enjoy the setting! Thanks! **

**Anyway, on to the chapter! This one is shorter than I was planning, but I had to get something out. **

[TWENTY MINUTES AGO]

The Enderman was content with his lifestyle; even though he still faced the cold exile that had been put upon him, he had become used to life in the Overworld. Most of the humans were neutral to him, and he was left alone in the "park", safe inside one of the shacks that had once been a home to one of the humans. He had taken his "children" with him, and they had come to love him as a father, even though one of them was not his son. Still, he had been brainwashed, and was now as happy as he would be in the arms of his true father; his bonds had been severed, and he knew no difference.

It made the Enderman sad now; he had once thought that he had done a good deed, bringing his wife out of her deep depression by bringing her a son, one that she would cherish and love. Everyone thought he had paid the ultimate price for what he'd done, splitting a child from its family by slashing its bonds; but he still felt the burden of shame, and even now loved his daughter more than his son, as the former was his only legitimate child.

The two had just recently learned the human game of "hopscotch"; as the Ender father watched them, they drew chalk lines on a hard concrete surface, pushing the ash aside with their feet, and jumped in and out of numbered squares. He didn't know how the game was played, but they seemed to be enjoying themselves, having learned from a book they had found while scavenging the park.

The Ender father was always alert, noticing anything and everything; he was unusually sensitive to sounds and sights that most Endermen, or humans for that matter, would pass off as simple disturbances. Yet, even inside the shack, he could hear the rustling of the leaves as the shrubs on the edge of the park rustled; the Ender father was alert and ready, waiting for any potential predator to show its face, but what came from the bushes was far more terrifying.

Humans, at least twelve of them, heavily armed and lightly armored. The children froze in place, halting their game as soon as they saw the humans emerged. The father was frozen in fear; the humans raised their weapons, barking in their harsh tongues, pointing their weapons at the children.

The father was still frozen; he wanted to run outside of the shack, attack the humans, slaughter them with his wickedly sharp claws, and make them bleed. But he was stock-still, watching the humans speak, hearing their vulgar and abusive language.

"—he said put the little shits down, they're worth nothing—"

"There's supposed to be three, moron! There's only two here, can't you fucking count?"

"I know there's supposed to be three, but we might as well do it now. The third one can count his blessings, for all I care…"

"I wish we'd been assigned to the Capricorn…those guys will have all the action…"

And with a simple twitch of their finger, the humans gunned down his children. They were too terrified to run; the bullets tore through them, at least two dozen apiece, and they fell to the ground, lifeless, like marionettes. The humans laughed, shouted, cursed them, hurled vulgar insults and angry words at the bodies.

"That's a job well done…"

"Fucking outsiders, go back to your freak show…"

"Someone teabag 'em, I'll get a picture…"

"You're welcome, aliens. Hope you rot in hell."

The humans dispersed, leaving nothing behind but the two bodies, laying on their hopscotch squares.

The Ender father reeled from the pain as the bonds were violently separated. His forehead rammed against the wall as he keeled forward, listening to the agonizing roar of the gunshots as the raiders emptied their clips into the now lifeless corpses, enjoying every moment of their sadistic murder. They were gone by the time he was able to rise again, fighting the burning sensation in his body.

There were more gunshots, distant this time, hushed somewhat by the thick trees and greenery that separated the eastern edge of the park from the neighboring commercial lots. He fought his way out of the house, leaning against the doorframe for support; the pain was not as strong now, as the bonds were almost completely severed, but his head was still spinning like a top, and he found it difficult to balance as he stumbled outside to the two bodies lying completely still on the pavement.

He was at a loss for words; the two things he had promised to protect, the two things he had left after his exile, were dead, murdered by the creatures he had distrusted from day one. He felt a surge of emotions, yes; anger, hatred, remorse, terror, guilt. But he expressed none of it; his heart was yearning for vengeance, even if it killed him.

As the father prepared to hunt down the raiders, hoping to catch up with them before they escaped, the bushes began to rustle and crack.

_Are they coming back for more? I'll kill them all…if they dared to come back…_

The figure that emerged from the greenery was not a raider; he was not even technically human, as his eyes glowed with a fire equal to that of the sun that no longer shone. Herobrine had always been close to the Enderman, keeping him company and ensuring the security of the park. This time, however, he had failed; the only thing that pleased the Ender father was the red blood dripping off of Herobrine's sword.

"Are they—"

"All of them, dead, yes. We have a problem, though…it's an emergency."

The Enderman turned slowly to the bodies of his children, and for the first time Herobrine noticed the tiny black figures lying in individual pools of purplish, brackish liquid.

"I am sorry for your loss. There is nothing we can do about it now—the best thing you can do is help me," Herobrine spoke, wiping the blood onto his shirt and sheathing his blade.

"May I bury them, at least?"

"No time—I told you, it's urgent," Herobrine hissed, glaring up at the tall Enderman.

The Ender father considered his ally for a moment, then turned back to his children, staring longingly at their bodies for a few more seconds. Finally, he turned back to Herobrine, looking rather defeated.

"What is it, then?"

"We need to get to Leon Walker…and fast."

xXXXXXXXXXXXx

I had barely stumbled out of the storage room, still winded from the fight, when Dr. Itliano and Celine almost ran into me, rushing down the hall towards the sounds of commotion. The doctor turned pale at the sight of Conor's bloody, lifeless body; Celine was surprised, but she remained calm and assumed nothing.

"Did he attack you?" she asked, studying the room like an investigator at a crime scene.

"He tried to…I came down here…and found him talking on a cell…"

I pointed to the unharmed cell phone, still clutched in Conor's outstretched hand. Celine extracted it from his grip, and began to examine the object curiously.

"I didn't even know he had a phone," she said to no one in particular.

"Neither did I. But he was talking…to one of the Brotherhood guys…that leader of theirs, the one who visited us…"

I was nearly out of breath. I had to sit on one of the crates in the storage room as Celine tampered with the phone, her focus entirely on the tiny, bright screen that provided the only light in the room.

"Are you sure, Leon—"

"I spoke with him," I told her, holding my head as I talked. "After I…killed Conor…I had to kill Conor, he attacked me…"

"I understand, Leon, if he attacked you. You fought back in self-defense, that's acceptable. But that's not the point. You said you spoke with him?" Celine asked, forgetting completely about the phone.

"Conor was talking to him…and, I picked up the phone, and he recognized my voice…and he told me that he had Ari and Marcus, and that he had attacked their expedition—"

"He's taken them hostage?!"

I hated to see that look on Celine's face; her father figure, a prisoner of some madman's cult, his life in danger. I knew that the stakes were high here; the leader had asked to meet with me personally, though, in exchange for Ari's life.

"He asked to meet with me—"

"Leon, you can't go, they'll kill you—"

"—in exchange for Ari's life! If I go, Ari can go free…he just wants to see me!" I snapped, silencing Celine in a single instant. "I will go…alone, if I have to—"

"Ari would never ask you to do that, Leon," Celine spoke, her voice softer now, quieter. "I know him too well…he would never ask you to sacrifice yourself for his wellbeing—"

"I damn well know he wouldn't…he didn't ask me, though! That damned madman asked me…and I'm going to face him, come hell or high water."

My words were pointed and sharp, each one like a barb, leaving the other two with no doubt about my intentions. They would argue against it no more; but they were not done yet.

"I'm not letting you go alone, then. I'm coming with you," Celine said, crossing her arms in a show of force. "You can't stop me, Leon. I'll be with you, even if it means my death as well."

"That's insane, Celine…it's not worth spilling your blood—"

"I won't let you die alone!"

Her voice cracked momentarily, her will to fight suddenly weakened; I could see a single tear glistening, running down her cheek, visible even in the low light of the room

"If you go in there…they will kill you…there's no way they're letting you out of their headquarters alive…"

"It's a risk I'm willing to take—"

"And I'm willing to as well," Celine hissed, refusing to back down. "If I'm going to die today, I'll die beside you, Leon. And I'm willing to risk my life for Ari as well."

There was no point in arguing anymore; I wanted Celine to be safe, wanted to keep her safe. But she was steadfast; she was coming with me, and it was her decision that made my change my plan.

"Alright…if you're coming with me, then we're not just walking into there—"

"What's the plan, then? It won't be just the two of us, will it?" Celine asked, assuming that she was in on the operation.

"I don't think so…we need more people, and if any of the expedition is still alive, we could use their help," I spoke, pondering a new stratagem for infiltrating the Brotherhood headquarters. I didn't even know where it was, and was considering how to find a way there.

"I'm not sure where it is—"

"We'll figure that out on the fly," Celine dismissed the problem. "Right now, we need to take action. We don't have much time…"

I realized she was right; even if we were being invited into the Brotherhood's base, what if the other expedition members were still in trouble? Our first stop would have to be Dr. Kagsttrom's house; that was where Ari and the others had gone to.

"Paul's the only man we can spare. We could try him, perhaps?" Celine suggested. Not a moment too soon, Paul came up to the doorframe, apparently attracted to the scene by all the commotion and the small gathering of people in the storage room. I was afraid that he would handle Conor's death poorly; however, he took it in stride.

"How…did it happen?" he asked cautiously, not even lifting an eyebrow as he noticed the body of his follower splayed out on the floor. The flesh was now turning pale, losing the life it had once possessed, and his eyes had long lost their luster, looking rather sunken and bleak now.

"He attacked me, Paul," I explained, for the second time now. "There's not much time to explain—Conor was a Brotherhood double agent, he'd been relaying them information this entire time…and Ari and the others that went out on the expedition are in trouble now."

Paul took all of this in stride as well; although he took a moment to absorb all the information, he did not become angry, upset or even emotional at all.

"Well then…do you need me?"

Paul had changed now; maybe it was seeing his brother-in-arms lying dead on the ground, soiling the floor with his blood. I couldn't think of any other reason for his change in behavior, tone and stance to me.

"We could use another gun…we've got a plan, sort of."

I explained what my little strategy was; we would attempt to link up with the remnants of the expeditionary force, attempt to find the Brotherhood stronghold, and either force our way inside or try to find a secret route in.

"I say we sneak in. It's us three against a horde of those crazy bastards, we won't stand a chance," Paul grumbled, taking one of the silenced assault rifles from the weapons rack.

"It's our best shot, Leon," Celine argued. "Even if we find Caldwell and his troops, we'll still be outnumbered. And we still don't know where this stronghold of theirs is."

"Not yet. But like you said, we'll figure that out on the fly."

We geared ourselves up, outfitted with the silenced weapons and several smaller arms, such as knives and handguns. The three of us were taking on an army; whatever we would face out there, it would outnumber us greatly.

As we left the apartment building, we were accosted by the two strangest beings on the face of the earth at the time; I had never been happier to see them as we nearly ran into them while exiting the lobby.

"Hero? What the hell are you guys doing out?"

Herobrine and the unnamed Ender father had never left the park during daylight. I sensed something was wrong, however; my happiness began to dissipate, as I noticed Herobrine's shirt stained with reddish blood and the Ender father looking rather dismayed.

"Is something—"

"We were attacked…they attacked his hut first, and I was able to pursue them…we came looking for you—you may have been in danger—"

Herobrine took a deep breath, wiping sweat from his brow.

"I heard gunfire coming from the Capricorn," Hero said, pointing north. "Pretty heavy and sustained. There was also sporadic gunfire in other places…I'm not quite sure what's happening, but I think the Brotherhood's finally striking out."

I looked back to the people assembled behind me, then back to Herobrine and the Enderman.

I was the leader now; it was _my _duty to protect the people of my community. What if the Brotherhood attacked them while we were away on our wild goose chase? I couldn't expect a couple of sentries, a cook and a mechanic to protect the building from an assault…

"What is your plan, Leon? You look like you're up to something," Hero asked.

"We…need to infiltrate the Brotherhood headquarters. They've taken two of our people hostage…and their leader has requested a meeting with me. Only me."

I explained the entire situation for a third time; Herobrine, like Paul, seemed unfazed by the massive obstacles facing us.

"Do you know where it is?"

"No."

"Do you have any idea about their defenses?"

"No…we weren't going in through the front door," I scoffed, as if Hero expected us to waltz through the main entrance.

"I assumed you wouldn't. And I assume you aren't just going to meet with this bastard?" Herobrine asked.

"No…we've got to rescue Ari and Marcus. And we've got to find the remnants of the search team."

"Very well, then. As it is my duty to keep you safe, I shall accompany you," Herobrine spoke, asserting his final decision. I turned to the Enderman, silently asking him what his plan was.

"They murdered my children…I would like nothing better than to get revenge," he spoke, his voice as gravelly as ever, but more melancholy than usual.

"We'd best get going. If the Brotherhood strike here, we'll have to hope that the sentries can hold out," I told them. There were five of us now; hopefully, by the time we reached Dr. Kagsttrom, we would find Caldwell and his team, if any had survived.

Time was against us once more; we departed in a hurry, the sounds of gunfire beginning to grow louder and closer as we left the stronghold and headed east.

**Again, I apologize for this chapter. I had wanted to make it even longer, but all sorts of restraints pressed against me, and I wanted to have something out by the end of this week. So, in the next update, expect plenty of action!**

**Read, review, and enjoy!**


	30. The Ender Pearl, Part II

**Well hi everyone! This week I am INCREDIBLY excited, and after review answers I will tell you all why.**

**Zach of death: Well, I hope you're pleased with Paul this chapter. He definitely does his part, and sheds quite a bit of blood.**

**Egnazol: THOSE POOR ENDER CHILDREN! Don't worry…revenge will be sweet indeed!**

**PigeonFligher: Despite the threats of caramel, I wrote without fear of you showing up to my house and going through with your horrible plan :3. Don't worry…revenge will be **_**very **_**sweet. Unfortunately, caramel was not included. It **_**was**_** a good idea, though…**

**HPE24: Well, I'd love to have more reviews, but I love your story too :D. It definitely deserves lots of reviews, and I hope you update it soon! Maybe the Elite III will become the Elite IV with your next update? You deserve it…and yes, I could foresee your reaction to the dead Ender children. I hope you're happy with the father's killing spree :3**

**Dagsar12: Well, it will unfortunately end :(. But that will be a while still…**

**Dodectron: You should try reading TPoM, Ears to Hear Us, TMD and The Minecraft Chronicles. They're better, but your praise is very welcome, and I hope you enjoy future chapters!**

**Well, ok, now on to the exciting stuff. Two things:**

**First off, I got a DeviantArt account! YAY! :D **

**There's not much on it currently, but I hope to take nature and weather pics soon. I live in the American Midwest, and things can get pretty screwy there with the weather…so there could be some pretty awesome pics! I did it mostly to follow TheMinersDestiny for her awesome artwork…I suggest you all do the same! **

**Second, there's something big coming on September 14****th****. If any of you've ever heard of the old 1998 game Half-Life, I will brohug you. If not, it's basically the granddaddy of the first-person shooter, and from the same developers as Portal and Team Fortress. It's a fantastic game, even despite the poor graphics. Anyway, about four years ago it was announced that a team of developers was giving it a total facelift—graphics, gameplay, weapons, models, etc, making it look more modern and enhancing the art. So, that comes out on September 14****th****, four years afterwards. **

**And I can tell you, I AM PUMPED for this. The project's name is Black Mesa: Source, and it looks **_**incredible**_**. I would use expletives to detail how **_**incredible **_**it looks, but that would be kind of unnecessary. Anyway, if you have a game such as Half-Life 2 or Portal already, BM:S will be released for free, so GET IT. And if not, go take a look at the awesome soundtrack that puts most game soundtracks to shame. Just Google it :3**

**Now, my rant is over. On to the story! **__

There was gunfire everywhere; the air was ringing with the sound of bullets, distant and yet still very menacing. There were occasional explosions as well; one of them was so powerful, it shook the buildings rising around us, shaking dust and bits of mortar loose from them.

We were quickly making our way towards the eastern edge of Langsford Peak, using the urban sprawl to our advantage. Although we didn't encounter a single soul on the way out, we kept our heads down and our weapons silent; there was no need to attract attention. Several times we covered up our footsteps, to throw off any potential trackers.

It took us nearly an hour to reach an area that I recognized; we were close to the gas station where my first encounter with the Brotherhood had been. The bodies were now buried underneath the foot of ash that lay on the ground, and a few roofs had collapsed underneath the weight.

_They weren't built to handle an excessive amount of weight on them…it never snows here._

"It's not too far from here," I said as the group stopped behind me. We were out in the open, which was not the smartest idea, but we were going to move for cover soon enough. I pointed down an adjacent street, one that led down into a peaceful, tree-line suburban neighborhood.

"Stay close to the houses. If you see any of them, do NOT fire," I warned, leading the group down the street. We went from yard to yard, keeping our profiles low and our backs to every wall we could.

There was a low thump nearby, something that sounded akin to a mortar or a rocket-propelled grenade.

_Explosives? Are they using…mortars?_

My worst fears were confirmed several seconds later when the ground shook slightly, a loud pop cracked the silent air, and a puff of smoke rose about a quarter of a mile away. I couldn't tell where the mortar was; it was laying fire down on a position nearby, so perhaps some of the team _was _still alive.

"Paul…Paul, I need you—"

The group had gathered around me; I had detailed a plan for us to try and surround the house and see what the Brotherhood had in terms of strength.

"Paul…come with me, we're going to take out that mortar—"

As if on cue, the mortar popped again, and there was another explosion; by the rising smoke and ash, I could tell that it had missed its target by about a hundred feet, falling further than earlier.

"Hero…can you scout out the area without attracting attention?"

"I'm supposed to keep an eye on you—"

"Can you or can you not?"

He stuttered for a moment, torn between the job his brother had given him and my question. He finally relented.

"Yeah…I'll be back in five," he said finally, and ran off behind the house, leaving no footprints behind him. It was obvious that he was not entirely human; if the glowing eyes weren't convincing enough, his lack of tracks was.

"Keep a low profile, Celine…see if you can get close to the house. Ender…can you scout as well?"

"I'll do my best."

"Alright, meet back here in ten minutes. DO NOT fire on them," I ordered again. They both dispersed, leaving Paul and I to sneak through a child's playground and into some shrubs. There was a small gap that allowed us to see the mortar team, set up on a concrete patio in the adjacent yard. There were only two of them in sight; I prayed that there were no more Brotherhood grunts in the vicinity.

"So…what's this 'plan' of yours?" Paul asked, licking his lips voraciously, as if he were about to feed. He seemed revved up for combat; he gripped his rifle tightly, ready to use the weapon on my cue.

"Next time they fire, take the nearest guy out. I'll go for the other," I told him, keeping my voice low enough so that the two crewmen couldn't discern us. We readied our rifles, aiming through the sights at our enemies' heads.

The two men, oblivious to the crouched warriors not ten feet from them, loaded another lead shell into the pipe, and launched it. The moment the device popped in a shower of smoke and sparks, I pulled the trigger twice, placing two bullets in my target's skull. Paul's aim was as good as mine; he dropped his man as well, and both plunked to the ground without a sound, hitting the concrete with a squishy slap.

"Nice hit," I congratulated Paul, who smirked fiendishly.

"They'll notice something's up when the next round doesn't go off," I told him, realizing that we had created another obstacle for ourselves. "We need to get to the house, quickly."

"You know where this little bungalow is?" Paul asked, rising up off the ground and shaking leaves off himself.

"Yeah…I can find it from here. It's not far."

The fences were relatively easy to climb; most of them were wood, and made no noise when we hoisted ourselves up and over the boundaries between yards. There were no Brotherhood grunts in the area, until we came in sight of Dr. Kagsttrom's home.

The small, cozy dwelling was damaged; part of the roof had been smashed by a mortar shell, and there were a few small craters in the yard surrounding it. One of the trees had been brought down as well, its stump still smoldering.

There were four Brotherhood soldiers in front of us, two on either side taking shelter next to trees, and several more surrounding the house on every side I could see. All of them were well-armed; there were three bodies lying haphazardly around, one on the pavement and two in the grassy patch closest to us, on the side of the street opposite the house.

"They're just standing there…are they just waiting for the house to get destroyed or something?" Paul scoffed, staring at the grunts from behind an ash-coated doghouse.

"They're not moving at all. Maybe they are—"

I realized why they were standing still; one of the Brotherhood men, apparently bored and restless, attempted to stretch his legs. He moved just six inches to the right, and immediately the quiet air was split by the roar of what could only be a sniper rifle. The man's leg was blown completely off from the knee down; he fell off balance, lacking his right leg, shrieking in agony and grasping his severed limb. One of his comrades rushed to drag him back behind one of the trees, just as the rifle roared again and another bullet smashed into the ground where his head had been.

"Well, Joseph's still alive," I whispered dryly, barely audible over the shrieks of the wounded grunt.

Several bullets rang out about two hundred feet to the northwest, and I saw several grunts leave the perimeter of the house in that direction. The remaining two soldiers closest to us observed them, pointing and speaking in hushed tones.

All of a sudden, one of them turned back to us, and for a split second I thought we had been spotted, hiding behind a thick wooden fence with a few panels missing and its gate wide open.

"Come on, dipshits, keep firing! It's not even smoking yet!" the man roared, and then turned back around.

_He was yelling at the mortar crew…he doesn't even know they're dead._

"Well, they've noticed. It'll be another minute before they realize something's up," Paul observed, clutching his rifle tightly now. The shrieks of the dying man had subsided, leaving an eerie silence; I had assumed he had either passed unconscious, or had bled to death. With an injury that massive, the latter was the most likely.

"We're not supposed to make a move…we're supposed to head back to the meeting point," I hissed at Paul. He was geared for battle; although our chances of taking out the remaining Brotherhood guard were high, it wasn't our job.

There was more gunfire, the crackling of automatic rifles and the pop of submachine guns.

"We've got a shot—at least one of them's trapped in there, we can get him—"

"Paul, we _need _to meet back up, what if they get back there and we're not present—"

I saw the glint of something shiny from behind the Brotherhood grunt on the left, the one standing over the lifeless figure of his comrade. He was cracking the cap off a bottle of vodka, taking deep gulps as he drained half the bottle.

_That can't be reflecting light…the sunlight's not strong enough…_

I saw the glow just as the massive, cold steel sword pierced the drinker's gut, punching all the way through and killing him instantly. He was brought up off the ground by the force of the strike, and as the sword slid back out of his body he fell down onto his stomach, spilling blood and vodka all over the dirty ground.

The other two noticed, but too late. Our instincts were faster; before either of them could take a shot at Herobrine, we raised our rifles and, without aiming, popped each of them once in the head, reddening the ash below them. The pop of our silenced rifles was still audible to the other grunts on the far side of the road, however.

"Contact…CONTACT! We've got men down!" The cry came, and bullets shattered the wooden fence, flying everywhere. Their fire was suppressive, but their aim was poor; I was able to sight at least one of them in Kagsttrom's yard and put him down, as several of them attempted to enter the house through the front door, which was broken down and gave free access to the house.

_They're desperate…now they're just going to charge the house and hope for the best_.

Joseph took down one of them from his observation point in the window, but the other three made it to the front door, out of his line of fire. I made it my job to take them down; I emptied the rest of my clip at the doorway, hitting each man at least once and piling them up against the wooden doorframe, splattering the dusty oak with blood and other matter. They created a barricade that prevented entry into the house; we were still taking fire, however, so that wasn't my immediate concern.

"One over by that peach tree, right by the base," Paul grunted, squeezing his trigger twice and popping off a few shots.

"I'm dry."

"Alright…I'll try to hit him. He's the last one, I think…"

I edged my way through the gate, jumping as several bullets hammered the wood nearby, and crawled over to Herobrine, who was kneeling beside the bodies of the two grunts. The vodka bottle was completely empty now; it had spilled its contents into the ash, mixing with the bright red blood of the dead soldier.

"They spotted the Enderman…I think he escaped, he's too quick for them," Hero informed me, clutching his sword tightly and wincing a bit every time a bullet landed nearby.

"And Celine?"

"Haven't seen her. The gunfire was coming from her area, so…"

My stomach tightened into a wad, and my blood began to pound. She could be dead by now…

_No. She wouldn't be dead…she'd kill them before they got her._

I couldn't reassure myself enough; I feared for her safety, just as the gunfire stopped momentarily. I wondered if the last grunt was reloading.

"Hey Leon…this guy's dropped his weapon…he's getting up…"

Paul had stopped firing as well, and was peering out from the gate, watching the house. I glanced around the tree; the enemy soldier was walking slowly towards us, weaponless, his arms held up over his head.

"He's surrendering. What a sack of—"

"Don't shoot, Paul. We might need him alive," I warned Paul, who was aiming at the grunt. Paul's eyes darkened and he grumbled under his breath as he lowered the weapon.

"Shouldn't be merciful to them. They wouldn't give the same respect to us."

I left the safety of my tree, walking out into the middle of the street, rifle still ready. There was no more gunfire in the vicinity; I heard some crackling, distant, but nothing nearby. The Brotherhood grunt kneeled before me, clasping his hands around the back of his head.

"Man, fuck this shit, it's not worth it," he spoke, muttering the first part repeatedly.

"Why were you guys here?"

"Don't shoot me, man…I never wanted to be here…just don't shoot me, please—"

"What the hell was your group doing here? Answer me!"

I pointed the rifle, causing him to cower and shake uncontrollably.

"The boss man…he told us, there's something important out here, something…he said that you guys would pay handsomely for, I don't know what the hell it is…man, nobody tells us anything, we're just the grunts. We come out here and die for nothing…"

I could understand his fear; his friends were nothing but lifeless corpses now, sprawled around the house in various grotesque poses. He was extremely shaken, his arms and knees quivering with intense trepidation.

"You don't know anything?"

"Naw, man…we're here to die, it's the Guardians of the Promise we're supposed to protect—"

He pointed to the heap of bodies in the doorway; on closer inspection, I realized that they each wore red leather armor, with a large cross painted on their torso. Their hair was shaven except for a tiny band that ran around their forehead, much like that of a monk.

"We die for them, we're like trash compared to them…man, it's not fair—"

"Get out of my sight. I don't want to have to shoot you, but I will if I see you again. _GO._"

He stuttered for a moment, amazed at being granted such mercy, and then took off running down the street, not even bothering to retrieve his weapon or thank us.

"Slick shit didn't know nothing. At least the rest are dead," Paul cracked, smirking at the young lad dashing out of sight. "He'll probably run back and get some more of his flea-bitten comrades—"

"I doubt he will. He's one of the forced recruits…I've met one of them before, they're forced to fight. He's not a threat to us anymore."

Paul wasn't convinced; however, the subject was entirely forgotten almost instantly.

"Leon…are they all dead?"

It was Joseph; I saw him peering out of the window, shaken and bloodied but otherwise alright. Mouse came up as well, and I was relieved to discover that they had survived the firefight.

"Yeah…one of them ran off, but he won't be back. All the rest are dead or gone," I said, kicking aside the bodies of the Guardians and entering the house.

It was almost the same as I remembered; the back door was still barricaded, there were still bloodstains on the linoleum floor, and the place was still in disarray. There were shells on the floor from Joseph's sniper rifle, and a 9mm handgun lay on the fireplace mantle, broken and discarded.

"We came in here looking for Notch knows what," Mouse scoffed, kicking the bodies out of spite. "We're burrowing around in the basement, when all of a sudden these bastards show up outside, take Caldwell and your guys, and then surround the house, trying to force us out."

"They took Caldwell?" I asked in horror, hoping that I had heard her wrong.

"Took him and something he was carrying. I didn't know what it was, said he'd found it downstairs…"

"They took Caldwell…goddamnit…"

"I don't know where," Mouse shrugged, looking rather helpless. "I owe my life to him, but there's nothing we can do, really."

"We can do something…"

We still needed to get inside the Brotherhood headquarters. I outlined my plan to Mouse and Joseph, who were both skeptical and still shaken after their combat encounter.

"How do you plan to find it? You have no idea where it is," Mouse scoffed, dismissing my stratagem. As she spoke, Herobrine entered the house, dusting himself off as he stepped over one of the dead Guardians.

"We can follow the tracks in the ash, perhaps?" Paul suggested. I was stunned momentarily; while I was at a lack for ideas, Paul had given a brilliant plan of action.

"Maybe…if we hurry, we can follow them. Can you track?" I asked Mouse. Still skeptical, she nodded her head.

"I don't like where this is going…but yeah, I can track them. They won't have bothered to cover up their footprints, I'm sure."

"Then we need to get going," I said, already heading out the door. "They'll be covered up soon; we need all the time we can get."

"What about our mission—"

"Mission's aborted, if you haven't noticed," Paul snorted sarcastically, interrupting Joseph. "Both of our leaders are hostages of some fucked up madman. If that isn't grounds for a mission abortion, I don't know what is."

"Paul's right. We need to get them out of there, and fast. Whatever those Brotherhood bastards took with them, it must be just as important as Ari and Dr. Caldwell."

We set out of the house, immediately finding sets of footprints leading off in the direction of the gunfire.

"There were several of them…and the tracks lead on for quite a ways," Mouse spoke, close to the ground as she ran onward, following the lines of footprints. We followed directly behind her, struggling to keep up; she was fast, even while watching the ground, and seemed to know when obstacles lay ahead.

"How far are we—"

"Bloodstains…here, and two bodies over there—"

Crouched over the bodies was the Ender father, his claws dripping with dark blood. The kills were fresh; one of the Brotherhood soldiers was still breathing rapidly, taking a few deep gulps of air before ceding his life.

"Damn…"

Paul was at a loss for words; we were as well, watching as the Ender father rose up from the bodies, his dark purple eyes glinting with a dark hatred.

"I wish I could've made them suffer more. But humans die too easily…"

He looked back at the corpses before returning to my side, his raspy voice slightly strained.

"We could use your aid—"

"I will gladly help you. I have not seen Celine anywhere near here…she may have been taken by the other men…"

I lost the will to speak for a moment; my heart began to pound furiously, my stomach shriveled inside. If they had taken her…

"We must act quickly. They aren't too far gone…I heard gunfire, so I assume she put up a fight…"

We rushed on, before hearing the Enderman out. Mouse led us onwards, past bloodstains and bullet casings. There were three more bodies, but none of them were female; two of them were Brotherhood grunts, and a third I recognized as one of the Guardians. They were sprawled in various positions in the ash, all riddled with bullet holes.

We came finally to a large pile of bullet casings and some bloodstains, but no sign of a body. There were multiple footprints leading off further north, and signs of a struggle; the ash was kicked up and dredged up in various places.

"They must've taken her off…there was a physical struggle here, someone was injured," Mouse studied the scene. She pointed to where the tracks led.

"Down this hill…down into that neighborhood…"

In the midst of a rather tranquil commercial district, a squat modern office building rose up about ten stories, surrounded by a clutter of makeshift tents and shacks as well as vehicles parked haphazardly. There were small figures moving about the complex as well, barely visible from this distance.

_It's their headquarters…it has to be…_

There were too many of them for it to be a regular outpost. There had to be hundreds of people down there, flowing in and out of the walls surrounding the office building, now turned into a nearly impenetrable fortress.

"That's it, alright," Paul muttered, staring down at the high-rise. "It's their headquarters."

"Just what we've been looking for…"

We had to get down there, and fast. I knew the only way we could get in was to sneak; we had already announced ourselves as hostile to the Brotherhood defenders, and they would shoot on sight, even if I was supposed to meet with their leader.

"We'll have to sneak in underground, it's our only shot…Hero, can you and the Enderman scout?"

"We'll be back in about ten minutes. Meet up at that restaurant down there."

Hero pointed to a small, squat brick building that served as one of the nation's burger chains. We hunkered down inside, examining the area carefully to ensure that we were alone. As soon as we settled in, Hero and the Ender father slipped down into the sewer line that ran under the street, and we the four of us were left inside the building, waiting for them to return.

As we waited, a Brotherhood squad passed us on the street. There had to be at least twenty of them, most of them grunts, and a few Guardians. They were in a hurry, heading up the way we had come; I assumed they were reinforcements for their fallen brothers.

"I've never seen so many Guardians before in one day…" Mouse commented quietly, watching the patrol run past.

"You've seen them before?"

"A few here and there," she answered me. "But never in force quite like this. Whatever Caldwell was looking for, it must've been really important to merit this kind of action."

The group trooped out of sight, disappearing past a small office complex and a pub, and a few minutes later Herobrine and the Ender father popped out of the manhole once more, clambering out one after the other and dashing back to our position.

"There's a clear way in…there's several manholes in the complex, but there's one completely out of sight," Hero reported as he fell back in with us. I signaled the small group to move out, before another group of Brotherhood reinforcements ran past. We all slipped down into the sewers and pulled the manhole cover back over, leaving us in complete darkness.

"Keep close together…just follow my lead," Hero ordered us. "I can see in the dark, so I'll lead the way."

It took us an agonizing ten minutes before Hero stopped, right in the middle of the sewer line. I heard the scraping of feet on something metal, and began to follow him up what I realized was a ladder. A small crescent of light filtered in from above, just enough to allow me see Herobrine's distinct silhouette as he quietly lifted the manhole cover off and set it down beside the aperture.

"We're hidden, so they won't see us back here," Hero whispered, and one by one we exited the dank tunnels. We were in a storage area, a hodgepodge of crates, boxes and various containers all full of dehydrated food, ammunition and miscellanea.

"There's a hell of a lot of them out there…"

We were about fifty feet from the main entrance of the office building, with about two dozen Brotherhood grunts and crewmen between us and our objective. The double doors at the front were our only way inside; they were guarded as well, by two rather large Guardians wielding LMGs.

"We're not going to get through there, there's too many of them," Mouse remarked, noticing the ample amount of armed men we had to face. "Way too many…"

I noticed that one of the crates next to us was full of plastic explosives; C4, an explosive that would only detonate when triggered by a detonator. There were several small, black detonators inside the same box; each one of them was emblazoned with the _Redstone Creations _company logo.

"I think I have a plan…Joseph, do you know how to work C4?"

"Yeah…I've had some explosives training…"

Joseph explained how the charges worked; the redstone in the detonator would automatically seek out the redstone dust in any charges that were powered. The charges had to be turned on first before the detonator could detect them.

"Alright…Enderman, can you teleport behind the building and plant these?" I asked the Ender father. My hope was to create a distraction that would either allow us to sneak into the building without being spotted, or allow us to gain an advantage and take down most of the guards before they could collect themselves.

"I can try…"

"Just remember what Joseph said. If you can find a tank of propane or gasoline, plant them on it."

I handed him five bricks of the explosive putty, and with a blink of an eye the Enderman vanished, leaving behind a few smoky purple particles that dissipated within seconds. I hoped that he would have no problems placing the charges.

Several tense seconds passed before the Enderman reappeared with a "pop" and more particles, empty of all C4.

"There was no tank of anything—I placed them on a box of something labeled 'incendiary'…"

"Brilliant," Paul chuckled. "They'll be cleaning up that mess for a while."

"Alright…as soon as I blow the charges, rush for the entrance. If anyone's still in your way, gun 'em down. On three…"

"One…"

"Two…"

"Three…"

I was knocked flat on my back by the force of the explosion, and was temporarily deafened. The massive ball of flame roared and rose into the air, and a wave of hot air blanketed us and knocked some of the emptier boxes and crates down. There were several smaller explosions afterwards; I regained my senses momentarily, rising up on shaky legs as the ground settled down.

Several of the guards and crewmen had actually been killed in the blast, their bodies damaged horribly or utterly destroyed. The remainder rushed towards the flames, shouting incoherently, their voices furious, terrified and confused. The guards all left their posts, crying out for water and help. This was our chance…

"Get in there! GO!"

I had to get Joseph up off the ground and gave him a head start, shoving him forwards. We took off at dead runs towards the building, shooting a few grunts who were still too close for comfort. Their comrades didn't notice us infiltrating their headquarters; they were busy tossing buckets of water on the rising flames, or pulling burning friends from the wreckage.

As soon as we were all inside, I shut the door behind me. Immediately we were beset by troubles; we had entered into a large, linoleum-floored lobby, which was empty. However, the stairway was packed with at least seven grunts, all rushing downstairs presumably to see what the explosion had been. Paul and I emptied our clips into the confused mass of bodies, spraying the drywall with blood and sending limp forms tumbling all the way down to the foot of the stairs.

"Where the hell are they going to be?" Joseph yelled over the gunfire and the shouts outside. Even inside, the noise was not dimmed, and we could plainly hear the chaos coming from the exterior of the complex.

"I have no idea…we'll have to split up. Try and find Caldwell and the others, I need to find their leader, wherever the hell he might be!"

I barked the orders loud and clear; nobody argued against them, nobody hesitated, even for a split-second. They all rushed off down a different hallway, of which there were four; I chose to go up the stairs one flight, and begin searching the rooms and floor piece-by-piece.

_Celine…got to find Celine…she has to be alive still, somewhere here…_

The second floor was one giant conglomeration of cubicles mixed with separate rooms. I encountered one grunt while hastily searching each cubicle; he tried to draw his weapon and plug me, but I gunned him down first, painting the wall behind him.

I was in one of the storage rooms when the floor beneath me caved in, sending me back down to the first floor. I was stunned temporarily, surrounded by a cloud of dust and debris; as soon as the cloud cleared, I was faced with two Brotherhood grunts, each frozen as they stared at me, mouths agape. They were reaching into a locker filled with weapons; before either of them could draw the firearms, I raised my assault rifle and fired it, single-handed, taking both of them down.

The locker had little in the way of good weapons, nothing better than mine, except for a "Jackhammer" assault shotgun, which I gladly exchanged with the assault rifle, figuring that it would do more damage in close quarters.

I could hear gunfire inside the complex; one of them had encountered a grunt, or more than one grunt, and it sounded very close. I left what I assumed was the armory and turned down a set of stairs that led deeper into the complex, what must've been a sub-basement.

It was dimmer and musty down in the lower level; the paint on the walls was peeling, and there was a grimy layer of grease and dust on almost every single surface in sight. There was a body sprawled at a fork in the hallway; it was not one of our group, however. I passed on inspecting it more closely.

I took the left fork of the hallway; there was only one door on the branch, at the end of the corridor. There was a light on in there; the room must've been occupied. I had no idea if the door was locked or not; it would be best for me just to try and break it down. It certainly looked weak enough to smash down with a well-aimed kick. I raised my leg, gave all the power I had, and smashed the door down.

The interior was not at all what I was expecting. There were at least a dozen people, most of them completely naked, their hands chained to small pallets that were attached to the walls. There was a single grunt in there, sifting through some of what I assumed was someone's personal belongings.

_It's a slave barracks…they keep slaves down here…_

I took the grunt completely off guard, plugging him twice with the shotgun before he fell limply to the floor, leaving a trail of rusty blood on the wall.

Right beside him, Celine was chained up on the wall, as naked as the other slaves and struggling to free herself. Without another word, I unlocked the padlock that held her up, letting her slip to the ground.

"Those bastards…tried to lock me up down here…"

"Get dressed and grab his weapon. It's not over yet," I warned, as more gunfire erupted further away. It sounded higher than the ground floor; some of the guys must've penetrated the upper floors of the complex.

Celine was blushing the darkest shade of red imaginable as she gathered her belongings; there were several other men staring at her as she hurriedly pulled on her clothes and retrieved the dead grunt's weapon. Avoiding even taking a glance at her in the nude, I went to freeing the other slaves, using the man's key to unlock their bonds.

"Do you have any clothing?" I asked one of the men, who was rubbing his wrists and bringing the blood back.

"Not ours…we could scavenge the supply depot, though. Other end of the hall," the man answered shakily, pointing out the door. There was a door at the right fork of the hall; as the slaves filed out steadily, trying to bring feeling back into their legs and arms, I threw open the door to the storage room and tried to find something of use.

There was spare clothing in there, and some crude, makeshift armor. Weapons everywhere as well; each of the men and women took their own custom set of clothing and firearms, some of them armed better than I was. As soon as everyone was geared up, I began to lead them back up to the ground floor.

"We're taking this place down today," I announced to them as I led them out the door. "No more slavery, no more bondage. Kill as many of them as you'd like."

I had prodded them to action by telling them they could kill indiscriminately; I described my comrades to the group, told them only to shoot the Brotherhood, and sent them on their way up the stairs.

"They'll be taking a lot of fire," Celine mused sadly as the men ran up the stairs, most of them to their certain deaths.

"We could use the help. The garrison will be overwhelmed, I'm sure…we've already done quite a number on them—"

"I heard the explosion outside. I figured you guys might've had something to do with it," Celine smirked as we jogged up the stairs and back up to the ground floor.

"You figured right. It's a good thing we came when we did."

"Yeah…a good thing…"

Celine was still blushing as she trailed off. The gunfire was now filling the building, and as we approached the second-floor stairwell Herobrine came down to greet up, his sword dripping with blood.

"Against all odds, we've got them fighting for their lives!" Hero called over the popping of rifles. "Their defenses are in shambles, their communications are severed, and we've got the rest of them trapped in the upper floors! This'll all be over soon!"

"We still need to hurry," I called up to him as he began to run off again. "It's always possible that they called reinforcements in!"

"_Brother…brother…can you hear me?"_

As the battle raged on, I heard Notch's voice loud and clear in my head, ringing over the sounds of gunfire.

"_I can hear you…I'm in a bit of a battle right now—"_

"_There's someone else coming to the complex…it's a helicopter, I don't know whose it is…"_

_Wait…a helicopter? Is it from the Capricorn?_

I remembered Caldwell saying something about them not owning any helicopters…could it be the mystery chopper I'd seen before? _Who _the hell was it?

"Leon, are you coming or what?" Celine called after me, laughing down as she ran up the stairs. The courtyard was now a battlefield as well; the slaves had proved their worth, taking up arms and slaughtering the few Brotherhood crewmen left outside the building. The fire was still raging; it had caught several crates ablaze, and now entire storage stocks were going up outside.

I hurried up the stairs to the third floor, coming up to Paul and Celine, firing side-by-side at retreating Guardians. At least three of them were dead in the hall, their bodies forming makeshift defenses for their comrades. I took one of them out with the shotgun, hitting him in the neck and head and sending him flying backwards. The other two were taken from behind by the Ender father, who surprised me as well when he slashed both of the Guardians in the back of the neck, killing them instantly.

"We're clear, let's move!" I called to the others, who followed close behind me as dust fell from the ceiling and the building shook with the force of a secondary explosion. Something else had blown; I wasn't sure what, but it was followed by another blast, one that nearly knocked me off my feet.

"We need to reach the top floor!"

I pounded up the stairs, my ears ringing from the constant gunfire I had suffered the past twenty minutes.

We finally reached the top…the last floor, the last place their leader could be hiding…

There was a door in sight; two, actually, a set of double doors that opened to the outside.

_They're in there…they have to be…_

"_Brother, they're close…Herobrine, can't you see them? DAMNIT, ANSWER ME!'_

"Leon—we've got company, right behind us!"

Bullets flew past my face, embedding themselves in the door with dull thuds. There was gunfire closer now, as the rest of the group turned around to face our attackers. I kept running, pounding the floor, racing towards my goal, ignoring the tiny bullets flying past me like deadly insects.

The doors opened before me; they were unlocked, expectant of a visitor. And they flew shut behind me, drowning out the noise almost entirely.

I was now trapped in a serene, peaceful environment, cool wooden flooring and walls and a large set of windows that overlooked the neighborhood. The mountain was visible from here, as were the rising towers of downtown Langsford Peak.

There were two guards in each corner, Guardians by their armor and markings. The leader stood with his back to the door, standing in front of three bound men kneeling before him. He turned slowly back towards me, and it was then that I realized his face was shrouded beneath a mask of sort, some kind of macabre piece of clothing you would expect to find in a Halloween outlet. But it had its own individual markings; it bore the same cross on the Guardians' torsos, and was colored the same as their armor.

"Well, you're a bit late, Leon Walker. I expected you to be more punctual."

He didn't really come off as a villain to me; his voice was calm and smooth, and had a very soothing feeling to it. Mellifluous, you could even call it.

"I've made quite a mess, haven't I?"

"I'm afraid so," he answered, without becoming angry. "Quite unnecessary, yes? My men would not have shot you on sight, you know. I told them to expect you."

"But I didn't come alone…I brought company—"

"Another obvious statement. The gunfire is difficult to ignore, even up here…"

As he mentioned it, I could hear some of the fighting outside, just barely.

"But, that matters nothing now. You've come here as I asked, and now it is time for us to do business."

As he turned completely around towards me, I saw what he held in his hand…

_Is it…a pearl, of sorts? Pearls aren't purple like that…_

The smooth sphere, whatever it was, shone in the small amount of sunlight filtering in from outside. It gave off some sort of unearthly glow as well, the likes of which I had never seen before; it illuminated the mask as the leader brought it up to his face, and gave more detail to the gruesome features of the skull-like guise.

"What...is—"

"I do not know, Mr. Walker. I am led to believe that one of your…colleagues has an idea of what this is about—"

The leader bent down to Dr. Caldwell, who looked up briefly at the sphere, before turning away in disgust.

"I do not know what it is—"

"You were looking for it though, weren't you? This is what you have been seeking for a long time…_am I right_?"

His last words were downright chilling; they were spoken in a venomous, malevolent tone, quite the opposite of how this leader usually sounded. I said nothing, watching the man patrol in front of the three, studying the orb for himself.

"You didn't go to some godforsaken suburban hellhole just for supplies, Dr. Caldwell…it would've been sheer stupidity, and a waste of time."

He patrolled back and forth, paying most of his attention to the pearl.

"You're a smart man…this is what you came for, isn't it? This…relic…something beyond our understanding, something from beyond our world."

My stomach began to tighten; I wondered where this lunatic was going. Did he possess something of unimaginable power? This had to be the artifact Kagsttrom referred to in his letter…it had to be…

"_Herobrine, get out of there! Get Leon, get everyone else, get yourself out of there! There is nothing I can do!"_

"_We're pinned down here, brother! I can't get out—"_

"_YOU NEED TO GO! GO NOW!"_

"I have a deal for you, Dr. Caldwell. And a deal for you, Mr. Walker, should you choose to accept it."

I listened intently, as the voice of Notch came through clearer than even, panicked.

"_THEY'RE ALMOST THERE, YOU CAN'T FIGHT THEM…GO!"_

"If the Capricorn and its assets abandon this pearl, the Gates Building and the Bailey Sanitarium, we will leave the remainder of your people in peace. You have done us many wrongs in our conflict, Dr. Caldwell, but we are willing to forgive you. This is the price you must pay."

"Go to hell, dog…"

The leader ignored this, turning instead to me, and removing his mask.

He reminded me of somebody from an infomercial; a smooth-talking, yet harmless middle-aged man. His facial features betrayed nothing; they were smooth, untouched from the apocalypse, and retained some youth despite the graying hairs on his head. I never imagined him being that old…

"Mr. Walker, I have a proposition for you as well. Your friends are trapped back there…I planned the ambush myself, knowing that you would rush up here to try to rescue your leader."

Ari was sitting beside Dr. Caldwell, with Marcus at his own side. They were both kneeling on the floor before the leader.

"_THEY'RE HERE! IT'S TOO LATE!"_

"In exchange for your blood, Mr. Walker, I will call off my Guardians and allow your comrades to go free. Every single one of them, no matter how much Brotherhood blood they have spilled. It is your life for theirs, Leon…do you accept this?"

I watched his every movement…I watched his eyes study me, his mouth move slightly, his eyebrows twitch momentarily. The world seemed to have stopped around us; the gunfire was no longer audible. It was just me and him, the guards and the prisoners invisible, the world outside invisible to me.

_My life…for everyone else…_

"Including Ari, Marcus and Dr. Caldwell? Will they go free as well?"

"Yes, they will no longer be held here. For your life…"

Every second seemed like an hour. My life was on the scales…I had to sacrifice myself…

_It's worth it…if I die, they live._

_Celine…_

_Celine…if I die, she lives._

_I love her…and I would sacrifice anything for her. I never told her that…_

_Celine…_

"I accept your offer. Let them go, and take me."

I extended my arms, in an offer of submission. As I saw a smile twitch on my enemy's face, I heard the whirring of helicopter blades. The Guardians were moving to take me away; I could foresee torture and agony, an execution before hundreds of jeering Brotherhood grunts, seeking revenge for their dead comrades. But the whirring of the blades drowned everything else out…

My first instinct was to duck; I dove to the floor as the massive attack helicopter appeared in front of the windows. I closed my eyes and prayed as the massive turret roared, firing into the room. The last thing I heard was the shattering of glass, and the screams of the dying…


	31. Intruders

**Hello all!**

**This took quite a while due to schoolwork and various things related to it. As of this publishing time, I have not played Black Mesa: Source, but I will do so in a few hours (hopefully), and my long waiting time will finally be completed.**

**So, review answers! This author's note will be relatively short due to time constraints, so nothing else besides answers:**

**PigeonFligher: Yes, I did that little evil thing just to mess with people's heads. I figured that reactions to Celine being captured, and possibly murdered, would be furious. And yes, she was naked—she WAS a Brotherhood slave, but they were too incompetent to defend themselves. :D**

**Ptrip3: Yeah, it's not the end yet. Yes, it is quite similar to the ending of The Gathering Storm…hero fights boss, but only the boss dies, and the hero here is left to face a new, far more threatening foe. So the end has not come yet…**

**Woohooman14: The government came…but, uh, not to help. You'll pick up on their motives in this chapter. And don't kill yourself…that would be bad :)**

**Kannon mentink: I couldn't link to your profile, so I can't see what you write :(**

**Beacker1160: If you wish to read a fic that is more like Minecraft, check out Minecraft Chronicles, TPoM, or The Miner's Destiny. Or anything Mellifluousness writes. I'm far too into this story to change things like that; it was designed to be a more "modernized" version of Minecraft, with some basic elements retained but almost everything else contemporary. I'm glad that you enjoy the writing though.**

**HPE24: Well, I don't see reviews as counting. No matter how many reviews I have, I'll always be reading and reviewing TMC and the Elite III. AND you haven't updated recently…so you can still beat me ;P**

**You **_**could **_**ask Flu or FMF if they could extend it to the Elite V. I don't see why not, but it's not my decision to make anyway. And, as you know, I **_**love **_**your style of drawing on DeviantArt. Sometimes, your drawings and FMF's portraits make a bad day a little bit better :D**

**BlakeyBoy: I am honored that you enjoy this so much! Updates won't be out extremely fast, but you can count on them coming within about a week or so of each other.**

The gunfire had deafened me momentarily; not just left a ringing in my ears, but had robbed me of all auditory functions for a few seconds. I stayed spread eagle on the hard wooden floor, wincing as glass rained down on my exposed head and neck and grunting as some heavy body fell on top of me, completely lifeless.

There was more gunfire, not the roar of the gunship's cannon but the chattering of assault rifles and small arms, which I assumed were answering the gunship. There were a variety of other sounds; heavy impacts on the floor, the distinctive pop of silenced firearms, and the chopper blades whirring to life once more. I dared to look up just as the helicopter, its bulkhead full of bullet indentations, pulled away from the building and hovered parallel to the blown open windows.

A large wave of armor-clad men leapt out of the gunship, which was parked just close enough to allow the mysterious antagonists to access the building. Two of them were taken down by gunfire before they reached the precipice of the building, falling down several stories to the parking lot below. Another one was struck in the head as he gained his footing, and fell backwards.

The rest of the soldiers landed firmly and immediately overwhelmed the Brotherhood security force, who were already dazed and shocked by the sudden assault by the gunship. Most of them fell in the initial onslaught, and those who were able to find cover behind furniture were no match for the highly trained professionals now spilling into the room. They had not noticed me lying on the floor; they must've presumed me dead, like most of the others who were on the ground with me. However, I could see Marcus and Dr. Caldwell spread out in the same position as me, still breathing and attempting to play dead as best as they could. Ari, however, was unmoving; there was something dark beneath him, spreading very slowly, and I knew that it had to be blood. He might not have been dead, but there was nothing I could do for him.

The helicopter exploded almost instantly after the soldiers had landed and began firing on the grunts. By the sudden dull thud that had preceded the roaring explosion, I assumed that an RPG had hit the gunship in the tail, and it began to spin out wildly, hitting its rotors on the masonry and blasting deadly pieces of jagged shrapnel into the room, cutting down at least two of the guards.

As the helicopter began to fall to the ground, its crew desperately attempting to eject, I saw my opportunity to free the others and try to escape the building. One of the attackers was standing directly over me, emptying his clip into an overturned couch. As soon as he stopped to reload, I grabbed one of his ankles and pulled him to the floor, wrapping my arm around his exposed neck as I grappled for superiority. None of his comrades noticed him go down; they were either too busy fighting or were heading for their own cover, taking shelter from the bullets that buzzed through the air like deadly insects.

I choked the soldier out, letting his struggling body go limp before reaching for his weapon and reloading it, hoping to make good use out of the SMG. I tried to look over the body as well, for any clues as to where it came from. There was no evidence on him, except for his badge; the pockets of his pants were empty, not even a wallet or identification card.

_He's government security…he wears the same badge as Special Operations…_

It was one of the shadowy Black Ops soldiers that revealed themselves very rarely—only for emergencies or shadow operations that were deemed "too high-risk" for normal military units. Those kinds of events almost never happened…

"Leon, get us the hell out of here!" Caldwell screamed, noticing that I had freed myself and had a gun. I scrambled over to him as he tried to rise up off the ground, limited by his bonds. Using my bare hands, I ripped the rope to pieces and proceeded to free Marcus, who was struggling even more so than Caldwell.

"We'll just have to book it! See if you _can _grab a weapon," I told Marcus as he rubbed feeling back into his wrists and grabbed a battered rifle from a dead grunt. Caldwell went on without a weapon; in the chaos, we were able to sneak out of the room and back to the stairwell, which was covered in blood and bodies. As we headed down the steps, my mind briefly flashed back to the reason why we were here…

_The pearl…_

"Go on! I'll be right back!" I called to the others as they scrambled down the staircase. The building rocked again with another explosion; part of the ceiling above me collapsed, sending chunks of drywall and whitish dust down on my head.

"Leon—where the hell are you—"

I sprinted back into the main room, scanning furiously for the enemy leader's body. He had been cut down by the gunship's turret, now sprawled out on the floor, his body mangled and mutilated by the heavy caliber bullets. Nobody noticed me reenter the room, slip on a pool of blood and fall on the hard wood floor. Nobody noticed my nose break, my blood spurt and my vision blur as I hit the ground. Nobody noticed me recover, grip the pearl so tightly my knuckles whitened, and get back up, struggling against the ringing in my head.

I slipped out of the room unnoticed; almost everyone inside was dead or dying, pierced by bullets or deadly fragments of shrapnel. The entire complex had been transformed into a blood-soaked warzone; even now, I could hear more helicopters flying in, the whirring of their blades punctuated by the occasional explosion or burst of gunfire.

The stairs were empty of any living thing; I saw many bodies, all of them grunts or Guardians. A few slaves lay here and there as well, fallen amongst their slain opponents.

I assumed that everyone else had made a rush for the rendezvous point, which was the restaurant down the street we had assembled at before making our move. As I exited the building, which was now in danger of collapsing on top of my head, I saw two other helicopters in the distance, flying towards downtown at top speed. A third chopper was landing on the roof of the building, presumably unloading its deadly cargo of killer elite, something I was keen to avoid.

I sidestepped burning debris and wreckage, making my way quickly down the street and back to the restaurant. Bright orange flames licked the walls of the complex, and thick pillars of black smoke rose high over the surrounding neighborhood, making it even darker than usual. I used this darkness to my advantage; I was able to slip out of the compound, down the street and into the restaurant's parking lot without being noticed. The gunship, rather hurriedly, took off a few minutes after my departure, rising up above the crumbling office building and slicing through the thick, wafting formations of smoke on its way to downtown.

"They're all gone…there can't be anyone left in there," I said to nobody in particular as I slipped into the restaurant. Everyone else was there, shaken but otherwise alright; Marcus had several small lacerations across his face, and a few of the escaped slaves were badly bruised, but there were no life-threatening wounds amongst the group.

"They came out of nowhere," Caldwell panted, visibly unnerved. "And I thought the Brotherhood was bad…"

"What _did _happen up there, Leon?" Celine asked. She was busy treating the wounds of one of the slaves, her attention divided between me and her patient.

"I don't know any more than you do…they just came in, all of a sudden…they were Black Ops for sure—"

"Are you positive, Leon? Why would the government come back here, when they've already fled?" Caldwell asked, still recovering.

"I'm positive…their badges, they had government emblems on them…they're military alright," I answered.

"They definitely acted like military troops…we encountered a few of them when we were retreating," Paul filled me in. He looked exhausted; sweat was gleaming all over his face, rolling down his thin cheeks and pointed chin, and his hair was matted and greasy. "They weren't easy to gun down; the only reason we got 'em was because we outnumbered them, and we caught them by surprise."

"Whatever they were doing there, it can't be good," Caldwell mused as Celine finished attending to the wounded and stowed her medical supplies away. "They wouldn't just barge into the post-apocalyptic wasteland they abandoned just to kill a bunch of mad zealots…they must have ulterior motives…"

"The pearl, maybe…it seems to be pretty damn important," I suggested, eyeing the small, purplish round sphere I held clutched in my hand. The very existence of the object felt wrong, as if it wasn't meant to exist on the surface of the earth. It was very cold; almost freezing cold, so much that I stowed it away in my backpack as the unnatural chill stole through my fingers and caused me to shudder momentarily, unable to forget the feelings I received from contact with it.

"It's always a possibility. They must've known it was there, somehow—either that, or they were searching for something else," Paul said.

"Unlikely…why would they just come back on a whim? I'm almost certain that they've been searching for this pearl," Caldwell rebuked him. "They gave up on Langsford Peak…there's no other reason that they would come back. That is, if they _are _government…"

"They _are _government forces—I told you, I'm positive they were…"

I grit my teeth in irritation, wincing as I did so; I realized that I had bit down so hard that I had drawn blood, and my lower lip was now bleeding.

"We need to get back to the Capricorn, as soon as possible," Caldwell warned, sensing that I was not in the mood for arguing over the identity of our interlopers. "I know the Brotherhood already launched an attack, but they pale in comparison to these guys—they could wipe out half of our garrison before we could even retaliate."

"As soon as we're set to go—"

"Everyone's patched up and ready," Celine announced. Her voice was shaky, and higher-pitched than usual; the heavy combat had shaken her as well.

We left the safety of the restaurant as the gunships dispersed, disappearing beyond the horizon. The fire was burning itself out now; without any fuel to feed it, it was dying slowly, until all that was left were small embers. The entire building had collapsed, consumed by the blaze. How many bodies were buried beneath the rubble, I could hardly guess; but the bloodshed had just begun for us, and the road ahead was going to be more treacherous than ever.

xXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXx

I can't say I was really surprised to arrive back at the community stronghold and find it in a shattered state. After all that I had been through with the assault on the office building, and with the death of Ari weighing heavily on me, I was at a loss for any kind of emotion when I found the sentry, Clara, dead on the steps in a dark pool of blood.

The entire place had been ransacked; as we proceeded up the stairs, we were expecting the worst. There had been a struggle in the infirmary; Derek's lifeless body was sprawled on the tile floor, and there were bloodstains on several of the stretchers and on the wall. There was no sign of Miguel, Dr. Itliano or Rina; everybody else was dead, and every single nook and cranny of the flat had been looted or ransacked.

"This can't be Brotherhood…these bullet holes are way too precise for a Brotherhood shooter," Dr. Caldwell remarked flatly, examining Derek's body as we scoured the infirmary and nearby bedrooms.

"All headshots…incredibly precise shooting," I whispered, walking over to Art. He was killed while he was asleep; his body had no signs of a struggle around it, and he would've looked rather tranquil if not for the gunshot wound in his forehead.

"It's those damned Black Ops bastards," Celine sneered, standing over Derek's body, leaning up against a wall exhaustedly. "They must've come here—"

"They were looking for something, alright. I bet it was this…whatever it is…"

I removed the shiny pearl from my pocket, holding it tightly. Again, that chilling, unnatural feeling stole over me again, and I slipped it back into my pocket before anything else could happen.

"It's too late now…they'll be long gone, along with anything they believed was useful," Caldwell lamented, sitting on one of the empty stretchers dejectedly.

I remembered the note that Kagsttrom had written—it might've still been in my room…

I dashed out of the infirmary, pushing past a surprised Herobrine as he attempted to enter the sick ward. I made for my tiny quarters, tossing my weapon aside and sifting through the smashed and shattered bits of what had been my possessions, hoping that I could find that note.

Sure enough, it was still there, even more crumpled and torn up than before. It had somehow been mixed up with my sheets, which had been scattered all over the room when it had been sacked.

"Leon?"

I nearly jumped out of my hide, turning around to find Caldwell at the doorway, holding another slip of paper that held an eerie resemblance to the note that I had.

"What—"

"I thought you might want to read this. I found it at Kagsttrom's home…it might be useful…"

I wondered why Caldwell hadn't mentioned this yet, but I took the note and began to scan it in depth:

_To the Riverside Development Department,_

_This is your good associate and friend Dr. Kagsttrom. As you probably know, funding for both the experimental fusion reactors and our department has been cut recently, all in the name of "security". Although I believe that this is final proof of our government's ineptitude, there is nothing I can do about it._

_Therefore, we are putting all of our experimental research into cold storage until further notice. That means that all of the blaze rods that we have chambered in Riverside Cold Chambers will have to be moved to storage, along with any other Nether or experimental artifacts that we have collected. Until further notice, these will be sealed away, effective on the 31__st__._

_Regards,_

_Dr. Kagsttrom_

It sounded similar to the personal note that the doctor had written; it did not reference the mysterious orb that I held, however, only "blaze rods" that I assumed came from the fiery fiends that guarded fortresses in the Nether.

"There's…another, Leon. This one's more personal…"

He handed another letter to me; the top was almost unreadable, stained with something akin to coffee, but the main body of the letter was in nearly perfect condition.

_Dea—_

_I'm very troubled, my old friend. Mt. Clay grows more active by the day…millions of people live at the bottom, so many of them poor and unable to flee. If the volcano erupts…the casualties will be in the hundreds of thousands, the cost to property and life exceeding our most expensive research projects. The plates are more active now as well, they're slipping; one more tiny slip, and there will be an earthquake of a magnitude greater than ever before seen, and a tidal wave that will surely wipe out anything along the coast. The rains have stopped coming, inflation is rising, food and electricity shortages are becoming more common. Our budget cuts and my chemotherapy aren't helping either; I fear that we are on the brink of disaster, and we have only weeks, maybe even days, before the hammer falls._

_I have stored our most precious possession at home, away from government eyes. The pearl we found, the one that could provide enough power to light a hundred cities…I do not know much about it, but its power is too great to control. I am locking it away, and even if our project resumes, even if all of this passes without event, it will stay there. _

_It is too powerful to use…I can feel its presence, even in my sleep, so seductive, so soft…it calls to me, it twists my thoughts, it corrupts my mind. I see lurid visions of horror and lust, things that I could never dream of before, things that torture me night and day. I feel it is too late to end it—I have gone too far, have fallen into the hands of this mysterious artifact. I pray that you keep this secret for as long as you can, and if worse comes to worst, ensure that it stays hidden beneath my house. Do NOT let it leave._

_This is goodbye, old chap. I am dangerous now that I have fallen into the pearl's grasp. Don't try to find me, don't try to save me—save yourself, Liam. Save yourself before the storm breaks._

_Yours truly,_

_Jon Kagsttrom_

"You…this is addressed to you, isn't it?"

I held up the letter before Dr. Caldwell. He looked like he was on the verge of tears, but he remained staunch, and only nodded solemnly.

"Why…haven't you told me about this before?"

"I was to keep the secret for as long as I possibly could, Leon," Caldwell spoke quietly, clearing his throat. "I can no longer do that—there is too much at stake here. Jon Kagsttrom was the finest researcher I've ever known, and he was the top authority on this pearl. It broke his mind down, it drove him to madness, but he was still composed enough…to write me in the days before all hell broke loose."

Caldwell bowed his head quietly, leaving me with the letter.

"Then we…have to go to Riverside, don't we?"

"It's the only option we have left, Leon. If the soldiers haven't attacked our outposts yet, they will soon enough. I will gather what soldiers I can, take us to Bailey, and get into Riverside."

Caldwell had taken the initiative; we were going to Riverside Industrial Park because we did not know what to do next.

"What's next? I mean…what are we going to do?" I asked him as he left the room. He stopped for a moment before turning around once more.

"I have no idea, Leon. But it's the only place I know to go to."

He was heading back to the infirmary, gathering everyone up for our last expedition. I stashed the notes in my pocket, so confused about what we were going to do next.

Ari was dead…

Rina and Miguel had disappeared…

I was being hunted by elite black ops soldiers, who would kill anyone to get this pearl…

I was leaving what had been my home for nearly three weeks now, leaving behind the bloodshed and the destruction. I was sure that there was to be more on the horizon; I retrieved my rifle from the floor, shouldered it, and headed out the door, leaving every last one of my possessions behind.

xXXXXXXXXXXXXXx

"ORDER, ORDER! Everyone, please!"

The gavel came down hard on the wood, silencing the argument in a single second. Representatives from around the world were gathered in the room for an emergency meeting of the United Nations.

The threat was very clear; a digital simulation was posing a major threat to the stability of time and space; as UN Secretary General Ban-Ki Moon understood it, a sentient, self-aware part of the simulation was attempting to breach the boundaries of their digital world, which would destabilize the fabric between dimensions. Whatever Markus Persson had created, it was beyond the Secretary General's understanding.

"Please, gentlemen…explain this to me again. You've already made it clear that the fabric of our dimension is about to be torn open, somehow. I understand that part…but what is the threat now?"

Markus Persson and Jens Bergensten stood before the podium, visibly exhausted and drained of energy. There were mutterings behind them, from the representatives; they were facing a global crisis, one that required all of the attention they could devote to the problem.

"There is…some sort of virus, I do not know…it's making it difficult for me to see the simulation, to try and find a fixture—"

"A virus? Could you explain more, possibly?"

"I don't think I can," Persson answered, shaking his head. "It's becoming more and more difficult for me to look into the simulation, an effect of both the developing wormhole _and _this virus. I don't know where it's from, or who sent it, but I will try my best to find out."

"Mr. Persson, you realize that we have a world crisis on our hands? It's almost impossible to keep this from leaking out to the public…if they found out, it would be hellish for everyone. We _need _you to find a solution to this, and quickly. If it's as threatening as you say, our entire world is in danger."

Markus Persson knew very well the danger that his own creation posed; he should have never made them self-aware, never allowed them to think for themselves…

"I will have a solution before the week is out. The threat will be diminished as soon as possible—"

"You've told me this before, Mr. Persson, and it's only grown worse, as you've reported. If you cannot get a handle on this, we will be facing a worldwide apocalypse."

Ban-Ki Moon was just as exhausted as Markus; he had had very little sleep in the past few days, taking calls from all around the world, concerns about the "Mojang problem".

"I have an inside agent, still. If you allow me to work with him just a bit longer—I can fix this—"

"I sure hope you can, Mr. Persson. Because if not, there will be no turning back…we are all doomed."

With another smack of his gavel, the Secretary General dismissed the representatives, who issued slowly out of their seats, grumbling.

Markus Persson filed out slowly, following Jens Bergensten out of the door and into the main UN building. As he left the complex, he knew that he needed to contact his brother again, and find out what happened.

There was almost no time left; if Leon Walker were killed, or captured by any of his opponents, the game would be up.


	32. Power Down

**Another chapter, hot off the press, my friends! We're nearing the end of this story (I'm not going to give anything away), so prepare for the action to be turned up a notch!**

**Also, this chapter's beginning notes include a SPECIAL section that is probably relevant only to me and like, three other people. Nevertheless, I shall continue. Between the last chapter and this one, I played AND finished the entirety of Black Mesa: Source, and I will say that it deserves to be Game of the Year…if it weren't technically a "mod". Anyway, here are the top five moments of mine, in descending order of awesomeness, including chapter titles:**

**5. The very beginning of "Unforeseen Consequences". It really painted a vivid, disturbing picture of a localized apocalypse. The fires, the alarms, the chilling screams all made for a very atmospheric chapter. And the zombies helped.**

**4. The ending of "Surface Tension", with the chase through the access tunnels. It was pretty intense, being chased by the Gargantua, and the fact that you kill it with your own enemy's artillery strike made it so much cooler.**

**3. The Topside Motorpool from "Surface Tension". Not only do you bring down an Osprey with an RPG, you also take out a tank with a TOW launcher. :D**

**2. Most of "Office Complex". Armed with only a crowbar, a meager M9 pistol and with a few rounds for a .357 Magnum, your job is to fight or sneak your way through a dilapidated administrative area fraught with alien fauna and headcrab zombies. It was pretty intense the entire way through.**

**1. The ambush at the end of "Questionable Ethics". For a minute and thirty seconds, I found myself in the middle of a firefight that took me ten attempts to successfully survive. The music really sealed the deal; the fast-paced electronica and drums made the USMC ambush that much more amazing.**

**So, yeah. Most of you probably don't care about any of that, but I posted it anyway. Now, on to more interesting stuff, and of course review answers!**

**PigeonFligher: No…NO BOILING CARAMEL! I'LL BE GOOD! PLEASE! Ahem…sorry. Ah…the Black Ops…I'm not sure I can really answer that question. Yes, it's a game—MechanixAngel will be your expert on that—but they also kind of exist in real life. Such organizations like the Green Berets and Delta Force **_**can **_**kind of be considered Black Ops, since their operations are often stealthy and hit-and-run. There are no real records of an actual "Black Ops" unit, an elite assassin squad, but they may very well exist. Our government doesn't like to tell the truth.**

**Woohooman14: The space/time rip is the main threat to Earth right now (I won't reveal the cause yet), but this mysterious virus is also a threat. More so to the Minecraftians, since it will kind of wipe them out like some real computer viruses would do to a program. It's not realistic…but it's neat :D**

**HPE24: I think I've contracted DIECHARACTER-itis from MechanixAngel…I hope it's not contagious. There'll be a lot of deaths coming up…so if you care about any characters, brace yourself. And don't worry about the reviews thing—I'll still read and review, and who knows? Maybe you'll surpass me again ;P**

**And I will bow to your wisdom of Korean names, you'll know more than me.**

**FMP: I'll just use that abbreviation from now on, FlyingMidgetProductions. A lot like FMF, eh?**

**Thank you for your compliments! Not everything is perfect, of course, and I'm glad you pointed something out. I've yet to review Tales of Anascentia (I think), so I will do that if time permits :D**

**Dagsar12: Well good :) Don't cross your fingers for fast updates, I'm afraid. School does get in the way, but I'll try to bring them out as soon as possible.**

**xXXXXXXXXXXXx**

We had to pass through the Gates Building compound to reach the Bailey Sanitarium. The compound was in a chaotic state; there were bodies being piled up by several storage crates, shell casings, scorch marks and bloodstains scattered all over the campus rather haphazardly. One of the trucks was still smoking, small tongues of bright flame flickering from under its charred hood.

"The bastards attacked with some pretty heavy numbers, but I'm assuming they sustained too many casualties," Lt. Corman explained as we entered the compound, exhausted after walking from the stronghold. With Ari dead and Marcus in no state to lead, the job of taking care of what remained of my community fell to Celine and me. We were both worn out after the day's action, but we had to press on to Riverside Industrial Park, and reach it before our faceless enemy could.

"They pulled back?"

"After about fifteen minutes, sir," Corman answered Caldwell, who was interrogating him about the surprise attack. "We were taken by surprise initially, but they were pretty easy game once they began to file into the open area and we took cover."

His hand swept the parking lot that surrounded the towering office building. There were still some bodies lying out there, Brotherhood grunts by the looks of them.

"We're going to burn them all. There's no space, or time to bury them."

"Understood," Caldwell responded, with a hint of remorse for the lack of proper burial. "Did you receive my message?"

"Yes sir—all the men that I can spare are being diverted to the outpost at Bailey," Corman answered, while he used hand signals to direct one of his underlings to some mean task. "I could only spare about thirty…will that be enough?"

"With the thirty from home base, we should be good," Caldwell answered, already heading for what looked like a convoy preparing to leave. "Anything else before we depart, Lieutenant?"

I could tell that Caldwell was silently ordering us to come along; there was spare space in an APC, a hulking, armored brute that could withstand anything but a rocket or other high-powered explosive.

"There are…some guests, you could say. Or refugees, more like it."

"Refugees? What—"

"Three people from the Southern Stronghold—a doctor, and two civilians who claimed to have escaped a Brotherhood attack. They're currently in quarters."

xXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXx

Dr. Itliano, Rina and Miguel were shaken and beleaguered, but very much alive when we found them in the quarters of the Gates Building. Celine was ecstatic to find Rina alive and well; although the latter was very shaky, and did not want to talk at all, she received Celine with arms wide open. Miguel was more composed than Rina was; he was able to give a full account of the attack.

"They killed Clara in cold blood…proceeded up the steps, searched every room, killed anyone they could find. Derek, and Art…I was able to get Rina and Doc here out while they went up to search the top floor. Managed to kill one of them, he was guarding the lobby, but I'm sure the rest got away…"

Miguel could say no more; he bit his upper lip, his face flushed with fury.

"I should've killed more of them…make them pay…"

"You would've gotten yourself killed, Miguel. What would that have accomplished?" I consoled him. "They've suffered enough today, anyway. Their leader is dead, and their headquarters are destroyed—"

"You killed him? You killed that bastard?"

"I didn't kill him…that's the problem…"

As Rina and Celine shared their information, sitting together on a makeshift cot, I filled Dr. Itliano and Miguel in on the situation we now faced, and the enemy that was now our main threat. Both of them seemed concerned about the problem, and seeing as Caldwell was waiting impatiently outside, wanted to depart as soon as possible.

"Are you sure you're up for it? We don't—"

"I'm not staying here—not while the rest of you are out fighting," Miguel argued, wincing slightly as he rose up off the bed. I realized that there was a dark stain on his pants, right by his pelvis.

"You—"

"Injured? Some broken glass—Doc patched it up thoroughly once we got here. I'm fine, Leon…and I'm coming with you."

Miguel was steadfast; it would be pointless to ask Rina her opinion, as I knew that she would be wherever Miguel went.

"I'm not leaving him—there's nothing left for us back at the apartment. We're going with you," she said, turning away from Celine. I finally faced Dr. Itliano, who shared her sympathies.

"I agree with Rina…we have nothing left to fight for except ourselves. Ari would've wanted us to keep moving, even after so many setbacks…"

He bowed his head as his sentence trailed off.

"Ari…how can he be dead…" Rina spoke quietly, clasping her hands together tightly.

"He would've wanted us to push forward…William's right, we can't let Ari die in vain. Those black ops bastards killed him—we can't let them get away with it," I said, trying to rouse the others.

"And we won't," William said staunchly, folding his arms rigidly. "There's no point in dawdling now—every second we waste here mourning the past gives our enemies more time to reach whatever the hell it is they're looking for…"

I had deliberately left out the mention of the blaze rods or the purple pearl in my description of the day's events; I figured it would bring up too many questions, and I settled on just telling them that Riverside was an important objective and we had to stop the Spec-ops from reaching it.

"Doc's right—we need to move," Miguel motioned, already heading out the door. The rest of us followed him; I was the last out of the room, shutting off the lights before leaving for what might have been the last fight of my life.

xXXXXXXXXXXXXXx

"Bailey does lead directly into the Maintenance and Storage section of Riverside," Caldwell explained as we rolled down Spruce Avenue in one of the APCs. The inside was eerily quiet; besides our discussion of our plan of attack, nobody else spoke, and any outside noise was completely blocked out by the thick armor of the vehicle's hull.

"So…what's the plan regarding the convoy?"

"Our force will go in and disable the generators that power the sniper turrets," Caldwell explained, moving his hand around the map. He was pointing to a large, squat building that was the Power Facility of Riverside Industrial Park. "They rely on that backup power—if it's cut, they'll be down, and we can move the rest of the convoy into the facility. That'll give us some extra firepower," Caldwell explained.

The APCs had been retrofitted with Stinger missiles—weaponry built specifically for helicopters, able to do immense damage to a bird if the latter suffered a direct hit. If we took out those sniper turrets—and if we didn't run into any resistance from any survivors inside Riverside—we'd stand a fighting chance when the Black Ops showed up to claim their prize.

"We may not be elite soldiers, but we'll give them a hell of a fight when they show up. But time is still of the essence—we can't have any distractions or problems, or we're in serious trouble."

We arrived at the Sanitarium within twenty minutes, the entire convoy pulling up beside the battered old stone walls that surrounded the campus. There were eighteen of us; the eleven of us plus seven Capricorn soldiers, each armed to the teeth. The only exceptions were the Ender father and Herobrine; the Enderman had nothing but his bare fists, and Herobrine wielded an unearthly sword, one that burned like the brightest flame but radiated no heat.

"Stay within half a mile of the entryway," Caldwell ordered to the driver of the vehicle at the head of the convoy. "We'll signal you when it's time."

The driver nodded, started up his engine and pulled away from the curb, allowing the other three trucks and the two APCs to follow. As soon as they had departed, we slipped under the street, down towards the secret entrance to Bailey.

"I had a squad clear the rest of the place out three days ago," Caldwell spoke as we entered the dank, dim asylum. He was flanked by Darius and Mouse, his two bodyguards, and Capt. Barcelona took up the rear, with the rest of us somewhere in the middle. We were a rather disorganized group, easily prone to a sudden ambush.

"The last of the pigmen?"

"There were a few more left, not much of a problem. They had to disarm a lot of crude traps as well, we had a few injuries there…"

I shuddered to think what kind of injuries could've been inflicted on the cleanup teams; the traps I had seen were nasty pieces of work, made to disable rather than kill…for the most part.

We reached the massive center area of Bailey, the huge concentric room with hallways branching off in every direction. A small LED light was hung up in one; I assumed that signaled the direction we were to head in.

"This is it. Another half mile, and we'll be inside."

Caldwell led us down said corridor, and we were forced to go in single file. The space was tight and narrow, and I began to feel claustrophobic the farther in we got. Eventually, the passage widened once more, and it transformed from mossy stone to hard, solid concrete, an indication that we were close to the industrial park.

About fifty meters in front of us was a massive double-door, too heavy for a human being to open. There was, instead, a small pin pad next to the entrance, which Caldwell proceeded to investigate and work with. The huge steel doors slid open noisily, with the sound of grating metal, admitting us into some kind of outdoor shipping depot full of crates and trucks, all abandoned and left to sit where their drivers vacated them.

"Tread carefully, everyone…they may already be here…"

"Leon? You might need these."

Capt. Barcelona handed me a couple of flares, which I could use in case I needed to signal the convoy. It was really Caldwell's job, but if he failed, Barcelona or I would be responsible for the alert.

We dispersed once inside, fanning out into smaller groups. Somehow, I ended up with Celine and Mouse, who both followed me into one of the hangars full of crates and hardware, which had been collecting dust and ash. There was a good foot of ash here on the ground; it rose up beyond our ankles, covering our shoes and skin in a chafing coating of gray dust.

"We could use a map of this place—"

"It would be helpful," I answered Mouse, who was scoffing as she shook ash off of her boot.

"Damn this shit…it's all inside my boot now, I hate it…"

There was a local area map posted on a wall close inside our hangar, but it was poorly detailed, and there was no clear sign of a generator room or anything like it.

"We could use a map…I have no idea where we're supposed to go," I said, desperately trying to make sense of the diagram. I gave up after another minute, deciding it was pointless; by then, we were the only ones left in the yard. Everyone else had taken one of the many doors that led out of the shipping yard, and had disappeared.

"We'll link back up with them, I'm sure," I reassured Celine, who seemed worried that we were now alone.

"Are you sure?"

"We'll find them. Let's just try to look for the generator…remember, we're running out of time…"

A crack rippled through the silent air; it was single shot, like that of a sniper rifle. My heart began to pound restlessly; it might have just detected a bird or animal, but there was always the chance that somebody had set up shop here already, and had just gotten careless…

Or the Black Ops were already here, waiting for us…

"Leon? There's something over here—"

Celine had found something of interest; she was pointing to a doorway at the opposite end of the hall, above which read a sign "POWER AND ELECTRICITY".

"That could be it…sounds like we're on the right track."

I smiled sheepishly at her as I led the way down the stairs, nearly tripping over the first step. I heard her snigger behind my back at my misstep, and almost fell the entire way down the stairs as I tried to look back.

_Don't get distracted, damnit…focus…_

I had spent very little private time with Celine the past week or so. That said, I had almost _no _time to myself; I didn't want to sound selfish or anything like that, but the constant threat of death for either me or my companions had exhausted me, and some alone time with her was worth more than the world right now.

As I continued down the stairs, into a large room labeled "POWER SYSTEMS", my mind was on other things besides the mission at hand. I should've been focusing; maybe then we wouldn't have gotten ourselves into such a mess.

I had always been a loner in highschool, even in college. It was mostly because I was too quiet to talk much; even amongst my closest friends, I rarely spoke. I had never had a "girlfriend" in any sense, and had never really talked to women even when I had graduated and attempted to seek a job out in Coastal City. Celine was the first woman I had ever gotten into a relationship with; it was very confusing, sorting everything out while fighting for my life and the life of my community. Although we had spent time together, and had a connection, I still felt like something was missing; maybe it was just _me_, all in my mind. When I wasn't constantly fighting for my life, fighting a monstrous hydra that never died, I thought about her often, how our relationship could evolve if circumstances were better. Rarely did I have dirty thoughts about her, but I suppressed them as quickly as possible.

I realized that I had strolled far ahead of the other two; either that, or they were sidetracked by something. I was in a completely alien area; I wasn't sure where I was, but there were two large machines in front of me, each labeled GENERATOR.

_This is the generator room? So…all I have to do is…turn them off?_

There were two switches for each generator; I assumed that all I had to do was flip each switch and turn the power off. Once it was done…just find a way to the roof…

I cast the first two switches, and the generator immediately ceased its incessant humming.

The other two would act the same way…I just had to throw them, and the power would be off…

As I flipped the first one, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye, right side. I flipped the second without another thought…

"CONTACT! SHIT, CONTACT, GENERATOR—"

One hand pulled the switch down; the other raised the assault rifle and emptied half of my clip into the doorway, where the Black Ops soldier had been. He was taken completely off guard; even though he was heavily armored, the bullets took their toll, and the sheer amount of lead I poured into him brought his body crashing to the metal floor with a loud clang.

Then the lights went out for good. The darkness was crushing, suffocating, surrounding me completely.

There was gunfire elsewhere; somewhere distant in the facility, not the sounds of sniper rifles but of automatic fire, and something heavier…

_I have to reach the roof…got to reach the roof, signal the convoy…_

I heard footsteps nearby. They were close…I dashed for the stairs, not caring if those footsteps were near or far, just praying that I could reach the roof without running into another one of them.

The Black Ops were definitely here, and I knew that now they were in their element. The odds were heavily against me; but it didn't matter now. All that mattered was reaching the roof, bringing in the reinforcements, and keeping everyone else alive.


	33. The Price We Paid

**Salutations, mes amis! Etes-vous pret pour un chapitre etonnant?**

**Sorry. Little bit of French there. Not really important D:**

**Anyways, this is probably the most exciting chapter I've written for Gone. It's pretty much a massive cliffhanger, with a lot of questions left unanswered, and a lot of lives on the line. And that includes OCs…none of your OCs are safe anymore…**

**So, read on to find out who survives! And, of course, review answers :D**

**FlyingMidgetProductions: I'm sorry I didn't answer your review last time—but I'll do it here. Thanks for the compliments, especially about vocabulary! And yes, I make a stupid mistake there with the bread…I do that a lot :(**

**Woohooman14: Still no reveal for the big threat yet…but it's coming up very soon! You won't have to wait much longer! And I'll see your fic on the main page when it comes out—and of course, I will do a review.**

**PigeonFligher: Yeah, the helicopter got him. These guys excel at killing everything…no caramel apples for any of them. They don't deserve it.**

**Looking back, I don't think that it was necessary to have Leon's personal time. He's kinda failed at having any sort of sex life in his past—but it really doesn't matter now, and it's good that you pointed it out. He's got Celine anyway…I'll make sure that their relationship gets a little closer before the end of the fic. Right now, they're kinda distant—it's hard to keep a love life when you're living in the post-apocalypse. **

**HPE24: We already talked about this review—but I still felt obliged to answer :)**

**SuperFirecat: Bullets are indeed different than arrows. The Ender children were already killed by bullets—so, yes, bullets can harm Endermen. Arrows cannot…just make them disappear D:**

**So, yes, another action-packed chapter! It will slow down a bit after this, but I promise you, the action is far from over…**

The lights were down; it was completely pitch-black inside the generator room, with no lights on at all. The emergency lights had been shut off now that the generator was powered down; there were no tiny LED lights at the bottom of the stairwell, no illumination at all. We were in the dark now, and I prayed that an exit to the roof, or anywhere outside, was nearby.

Gunfire was distant; it was too far to pose any threat to me, but at the same time I was afraid, anxious. Who had gotten into a gunfight? Was it with local survivors, wild animals, or had the Black Ops found some of us? It couldn't have been ferals—the gunfire was seesawing, going back and forth. It was definitely a firefight between two different groups, and most likely involved the government forces.

The only thing I knew to do was run; I had a vague idea of how the generator room was designed, and how to avoid tripping or running head-on into any obstacles. Beyond that, I would either have to possess a hell of a lot of luck, or I would have to be extremely cautious. I couldn't take my time crawling on the floor, holding my arms out like a blind man; I had to book it, and pray that I wasn't running straight into the nearest wall.

I stepped over the dead body, grappling for several seconds before finding his weapon. Even without seeing the weapon, I knew that it was much more efficient that mine. It was silenced, just like my old rifle was; but it wasn't as damaged, it was lighter, and it had IRNV optics that would render the cover of darkness useless.

I raised the weapon up to my shoulder and gazed through the optics; they were clear, without any blemishes or scratches, and I could make out most of the stairwell through the vision-enhancing scope, which was basically night-vision mounted on the weapon. It would certainly give me an advantage over my enemies, or at least level the playing field slightly if they had the same gear as I did.

"We've got a man down, I repeat, man down in power structure…switching to thermal optics, power down—all eyes…"

The voice was rough and rocky, muffled through what I assumed was a gas mask or something like it. The room I had entered was massive; hundreds of oil drums were stacked high and lined up like factory products, separated by small open spaces. I had the feeling of entering a hedge maze; there was no clear way out except to go back, and I would never be able to find my way back in the darkness, even with night vision.

"Who's down? Courier?"

"Courier's not responding…keep your eyes open, thermal optics on. Courier didn't just fall dead…I think we've got a sneaker around here…"

So, imagine my position.

The only way I could see was by staring intensely through my weapon's optics, oblivious to the rest of the world around me. I was in some sort of psychotic industrial maze, being hunted by elite soldiers armed with better equipment and better armor, with no clear way out and now no way back.

I was terrified, utterly terrified; the only reason I kept my cool were the IRNV sights. I could see at least something through them, which allowed me to be alert for potential dangers as well as avoid ramming into one of the oil drums. I began to creep down the aisles, minimizing any sound by taking it one step at a time and keeping my weight centered, not down on my feet.

"Anything?"

"No sign sir…I found his body, at least ten bullet wounds…but there's no sign of an attacker…"

"Roger. Hartmann, get out the heartbeat monitor—if this creep's still around here, we'll find him."

My blood froze instantly in my veins.

_A heartbeat monitor…you've got to be joking…_

There was no way I could fake death; they would be able to detect me and track me down within a minute, as soon as they deployed their monitor. The voices were relatively close; they were less than thirty feet away. If I made a break for it, they would likely hear as well as see me; I began to weigh my options as I heard clicking and some various random sounds.

"It's going up, boss…give it a moment…"

"We don't have a moment," the gruff voice hissed. "Hurry the fuck up!"

It was now or never; I had to bolt, and pray that I found the exit.

"It's starting up—one second—"

I rushed out of my hiding spot, running wildly. They had heard me; had heard the rush of clothing, the heavy footfalls, and the clang of metal as I nudged one of the drums.

"Contact—DIRECT RIGHT, DIRECT RIGHT!"

Silenced gunfire opened up from behind me, and several bullets whizzed past and pierced the metal barrels. Oil began to leak out of them, I could hear it sopping onto the floor, and spurting out of the holes torn into the sides of the drums.

"Hit him! TAKE HIM DOWN!"

There were footsteps behind me now, heavy breathing and the thumping of armor against clothing. I blindly fired several rounds back behind me, and the footsteps stopped momentarily; they had taken cover behind the stacks of oil drums, and I used the sudden diversion to my advantage. I changed course, striking off to the right again before taking another left, hoping to throw them off. Hiding would be useless now; they would find me within moments. My only chance was to run, and throw them off before they could get a spot on me.

"I lost him—damnit, he shook us—"

"Give me that monitor! NOW!"

I began to sprint now, running blindly forward. I could barely see the outlines of the drum stacks, and just barely saw a set of stairs leading up, up to a safer place…

There were windows up here—I could see them in the distance. It looked like the hallway I was in ran at least five hundred feet long, down as far as I could see. The light coming from the endless row of windows was dim, but it was better than complete darkness.

"Up the stairs—go, GO!"

I turned around just in time to kill the first Black Ops soldier coming up the stairs. He was taken off-guard; I was just as surprised as he was, as he took the bullets and tumbled back down the stairs, taking his comrade back down with him.

I took the opportunity to run to the right, where there were no windows and it was darker. There was another set of stairs that led further up, to Notch knew where; it was my best chance to lose my pursuers, who would surely recover from their losses and hunt me down with a hellish vengeance.

I hadn't noticed the sign that said ROOF ACCESS. Before I knew it, I was on top of the facility's flat, shingled roof, standing in the middle of a field of vents, air conditioning units that were no longer functioning, and disabled turrets standing on the edge of the roof, sentinels that had lost all of their power.

They were behind me, still pursuing me with extreme prejudice. I took cover behind a large metal A/C unit, and plucked one of the bright red flares from my pocket. All it took was a single strike on the metal surface to light the signal flare; I stepped out from my cover and tossed it up as high as I could, into the ashy, dim sky.

At the peak of its parabola, the flare burst into bright red sparks, which served as the signal to the convoy. It would be visible from at least a half mile away; the group of vehicles parked at the main entrance to Riverside would see it, open up the gate and enter the complex to give us extra fire support.

As I watched the brilliant sparks fade away, bullets bounced off of the A/C unit, several of them narrowly buzzing past me. The silenced gunshots were difficult to hear; I dived behind the unit, fumbling to ready my weapon. The small amount of sunlight that shone through the increasingly thick clouds was enough to allow me to spot the Black Ops soldiers, who were each heading for their own defensive position. I caught one in the leg as he tried to run behind a vent, but the others were able to take up their positions, surrounding me in a large semicircle on the roof.

I was now trapped once more; I could see clearly, and had a spot on every single point on the flat factory roof, but now I was hemmed in good and proper. Any attempt to escape would result in a hail of bullets sent in my direction, and the likelihood of me escaping was even slimmer now.

I could hear the roaring of engines in the distance; turning behind me, I could see the entire courtyard of the complex; half of it was a massive shipping hub, the other half a large parking lot full of abandoned, empty cars and trucks. Each of the four main complexes could be accessed from this plaza; I saw a small, thin line of moving vehicles enter from the main gate and disperse into the parking lot, a mixture of small civilian jeeps, trucks, and military APCs.

"You're surrounded, moron—there's no way out now!" I heard a jeering call from one of the soldiers. He sounded more like an army grunt than a professional assassin; if he hadn't tried to kill me earlier, I would've underestimated his skills. But these men were the elite; they might boast, jeer me and curse me out, but they could easily back up their banter with bullets. Then another, more civil voice called out to me.

"You know what we want—drop your weapon, step out with your hands up, and then we can talk!"

"Fuck you!" I spat back, making sure to stay in cover. One misstep and I would be in their line of fire.

"That wasn't necessarily the response I was hoping for…just hand over the pearl, and we'll pretend none of this happened," the stranger called back.

"Like heck I will—who are you, anyway? I certainly can't trust you if I don't know who you are…doesn't mean I'll trust you more if you tell me…"

"It's none of your business," the voice called, sounding measurably more irritated now. "Come out, hand the pearl over, and we'll chalk this up to a little mistake."

I wasn't about to hand over the pearl—it was still tucked safely in one of my large pockets, along with extra ammo for my weapon. I waited for the leader to call out again, desperately trying to formulate any sort of escape. There was no clear way out; jumping off of the roof would mean death, and trying to run a gauntlet of elite gunfighters was just as suicidal. Someone else joined in as well, talking not to me but to the enemy squad's leader.

"Sir, Bravo's taking heavy fire—they're outnumbered down in the Sub-Levels, two down—"

"I'm running out of patience here!" the captain barked, now less civilized and gruffer. "Give me an answer now, or I swear—"

"Sir, military vehicles pulling into the complex—Stingers and heavily armed, soldiers, they aren't ours! They've brought reinforcements!"

"That's it—pop this bastard now, get the pearl and pull back!"

Gunfire slammed into the A/C unit, deafening as bullets struck the metal. There was more gunfire as well, not silenced this time, but loud and resounding.

"Behind us, behind us—SHIT!"

"Hostiles behind us, watch your back—"

The Black Ops troops were taken completely by surprise; I wondered how they had forgotten to watch their rear, but sure enough, friendlies had broken through to the roof and smashed through the semicircle. I rushed out from my hiding spot as the gunfire died down, recognizing Lt. Corman, Mouse and Darius as they gathered a squad of about nine Capricorn soldiers.

"Damn, perfect timing guys…"

"We don't have time, Leon," Mouse gasped, breathless. "There's more of them on their way—scouts report at least five transport helicopters and two attack gunships coming in from the north, heading straight to Riverside. If these chaps didn't mean business before, they do now."

I felt my stomach shrivel up once more, the same feeling I got when I was alone in Bailey and when I had infiltrated the Midlands Hospital.

_Attack helicopters? Are they this serious?_

As if to answer my question, the ground began to quake beneath us, and two small silhouettes appeared on the horizon. They were coming in faster than helicopters, and even at a distance of a few miles out, the roaring of their engines was incredibly loud. Everyone was rooted to the spot as the assault bombers roared over the river, flew over Riverside and unleashed their deadly cargo on the parking lot.

I had never seen such devastation wrought before; the bombs exploded once, and then exploded again, and then caught the air around them on fire. Cars were tossed like toothpicks, ten, twenty, fifty feet into the air. Many were caught on fire, their windows blasted out and their metal frames melting in the heat. The shockwave rippled through the entire facility, shaking us and rippling our clothing.

The bombers roared over the facility and began to disappear once more, surely turning around to make another pass.

_Now they're bombing the factory? How desperate are these guys? Does the pearl mean this much?_

"Thermobaric bombs? They can't be serious…" Lt. Corman spoke, breathless.

I now recognized what they were; Thermobaric bombs ignited the oxygen around the initial blast radius, which was itself relatively large. The massive fireball would die out rather quickly, but the destruction it wrought was second only to the power of Notch himself.

"We need to get inside, underground if we can," Darius muttered, watching the planes disappear. "They'll bomb this facility to the ground if they need to."

We headed back down the staircase without delay, leaving the Black Ops bodies on the roof. Above the factory floor, in the hallway with the windows, most of the rest of us were gathered; I noticed that Captain Barcelona had been injured, and a few Capricorn soldiers had been wounded as well. We were missing six men.

"What the hell was that explosion?" Dr. Caldwell asked of our group as he tended to one of the wounded, who was lying on a makeshift stretcher.

"They're bombing us now—like we needed more military intervention," Lt. Corman reported.

"Bombing…us? How far are they willing to go?" Caldwell muttered, shaking his head. "We need to get lower, then. They'll be coming after us—why not draw them into a trap?"

"We'll be outnumbered—by elite soldiers, no less," Corman filled Caldwell in. "At least six transport helicopters coming in from the north—and they've almost certainly got more on station."

Our situation was looking bleaker; we wouldn't stand a chance in an open fight and, even within the confines of the factory, where an ambush could easily take out an entire enemy team, our chances of beating them back were slim. I found Celine amongst the gathering of people, tending to a small laceration on her arm.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah…got cut by glass, but I'm fine. I thought they really had you up there," Celine responded. She remained unperturbed by the injury on her arm; I had never seen someone quite as delighted as she was while they were in a war zone.

"They almost did," I chuckled weakly, trying not to picture what would've happened if Corman's team hadn't rescued me. "You can thank Lieutenant Corman—his squad saved my life."

"Well, I'm glad you're alive, Leon. For now, at least…"

As she clenched my hand tightly, the building shook again. The explosion was muffled, and more distant, but the windows were cracking and part of the roof above the factory floor below caved in. Dust was shaken from the walls and ceiling, and small chunks of the ceiling's drywall rained down on our heads.

"It won't be long before they break out the bunker busters," Caldwell warned, looking out the grimy windows as the two bombers streaked by again, roaring over the river. "We can't just sit here and wait…"

He turned to me after watching the bombers disappear.

"Leon? I…need you."

I knew what he wanted me to do; I was in pretty poor shape, exhausted as I was, but I was not going to reject him.

"Get down to Cold Storage…before the Black Ops teams do. Their reinforcements will be here within minutes, and if they can't find you, they'll certainly head straight for the lower levels."

Already, the Capricorn soldiers were setting up shop in the factory floor below, away from windows and far away from any potential bombing targets.

"Will your people go with you? You'll need some support."

We were all here, the ones who had survived—Celine, Rina, Miguel, Marcus, Herobrine and the Ender father, all together once more. The mission ahead of us was near suicidal, and I knew that it was up to them whether they would go with me or not.

"I'm not leaving you again, Leon. I'll go with you," Celine spoke, standing up beside me. Her arm was all patched up now, and her weapon was ready.

"I'm not sitting around here, either," Marcus grumbled, standing up along with Miguel, who I assumed was going. "We haven't bled those bastards dry yet; the job's not done until they learn their lesson."

"I'm going with Miguel…I can't stay here," Rina said hastily, latching on to Miguel's arm.

Herobrine rose up as well, unsheathing his sword.

"I am assigned to be your guardian, Leon—I will be by your side no matter what."

"And I shall too."

The Ender father was the last one of our group to volunteer; but three of the Capricorn crew stepped forward as well.

"Hell…it's better than sitting around here, waiting for the men in black to show up again," Mouse shrugged, joining us. Darius joined us as well, reloading his revolver eagerly.

"I ain't sitting around here waiting. I'm with you." Paul, who had been rather silent this entire time, had decided to come with us.

"And I will come as well—Lt. Corman will be in charge in my absence. My research revolved around this pearl…and I wish to be there to see my work completed."

That made eleven of us, counting me; eleven brave souls, almost certainly heading to their doom. I knew that at least half of us wouldn't make it out of this factory complex alive; who would survive and who wouldn't was up to fate.

"I know the general layout of the facility—I saw a map back in the shipping area, it gave me an idea of how the place looks," Caldwell spoke as we departed, leaving the rest of the Capricorn team behind to hold down the fort. We proceeded down the long hallway, which led to a massive cargo elevator that would easily accommodate all of us. The Ender father had to stoop over, but there was still space for him.

"The lower we get, the hazier the layout was. We'll have to wing it once we get a few levels down. The generator's been turned back on momentarily to allow us to use the elevator, but it will go back off after that. Not enough juice to run it."

And so we descended down into what would certainly be a dark abyss, a deathtrap just waiting for unassuming prey to fall into.

xXXXXXXXXXXXXXx

"_SubLevel One, Coolant and Waste Reserve."_

The elevator doors opened up after thirty seconds of traveling downward; we could've used the alternate staircase, but it would've been difficult to fit everyone in it. It would have to be our way back up.

Almost instantly, the power was cut and the lights all went out. The troubling thing was, the room was still illuminated.

The massive canal before us was at least ten feet deep, and fifteen feet wide. The glowing blue liquid was still, bubbling and sloshing about a bit as it lay, for the most part, at rest. Whatever the hell that liquid was, it was a good idea to steer clear of it.

"This _is _waste storage," I remarked as the others gawked at the blue fluid. "I wouldn't dip into it if I were you."

"No kidding," Paul sneered sarcastically. "No wonder they kept this stuff hidden from the public. If the taxpayers knew what these guys were dumping out into the oceans…"

I studied the room, looking for a distinct way across the canal. There was a large door on the other side labeled "R&D AND COLD STORAGE", but there was no clear way across the river of blue liquid. There WAS a bridge, the kind that lifted up to allow traffic to pass under. But the problem was, the bridge had been left in its raised state, inaccessible unless it was lowered to allow traffic to cross.

"What a hell of a design flaw…there's only one way across?" Paul exclaimed, staring up at the bridge.

"The way I see it, yes," Caldwell answered, studying the room just as intently as I did. The ceiling was high, and lined with catwalks, but the bridge seemed to be the only way to access the other side.

"You could teleport across," I suggested to the Ender father, who was now standing beside me, a good two and a half feet taller. "It might do us some good."

"Potentially," he spoke, his raspy voice considerate. "It wouldn't benefit you guys much—"

"It would be nice to know what's ahead…could you maybe even teleport us with you?" I asked. Immediately, the Enderman shook his head furiously.

"That would be next to impossible," he hissed. "I couldn't do it even if I desperately needed to. Simply…impossible."

"Well…it was a good idea…"

"There are two sets of staircases leading down," Celine noted, pointing to each side of the room. On each wall, on both sides of the canal, there were two sets of stairs, but no directional signs or anything that gave us an idea of where we were headed.

"It's not the best idea to split up, though," I warned, knowing that she was going to suggest we split up. "We're outnumbered and outgunned as is—"

"Do you have any other ideas, then?" she challenged. I was stopped in mid-sentence, interrupted; I tried to argue, to posit another idea, but I ceded any attempts at dispute.

"Well, alright…but we shouldn't all leave here—"

"How you, me, Marcus and our Enderman take one way, and Darius, Rina, Miguel, Paul and Mouse can go the other way?" Celine suggested. That would leave Dr. Caldwell and Herobrine waiting for us at the canal bridge, which would be rather awkward.

"We won't be long," Mouse reassured Caldwell, who didn't seem too happy about being left alone with a man with glowing eyes. Herobrine seemed unhappy to leave my side; he didn't argue, however, but slumped against the wall, twiddling his fingers anxiously.

Our group departed down the left stairwell, descending in almost complete darkness. Marcus and I both had flashlights, which illuminated enough of the descent to prevent us from tripping and falling. It was when we had descended about a hundred steps or so and entered the next room that we realized how large Riverside was.

The rectangular space was mostly open; although the exact parameters were unknown to me, I could guess that it was at least 500 feet by 200 feet. There were giant vats of caustic liquids rising up from the floor, with a network of catwalks crisscrossing the open space above us and walkways cutting in-between the massive vats. Large machines that had ceased to operate were everywhere, with their own mechanisms and control systems that would do nothing without power. Though these vats of liquid glowed as well, they were raised too far up to illuminate the ground floor of the level. Instead, they provided light for the catwalks, and that was how I spotted the first Black Ops soldier as the rest of the group entered the room.

"One hell of a—"

"QUIET! One hostile, up on catwalks…up there—" I silenced Marcus as he began to comment on the size of the factory floor, and pointed upwards to the lone figure on the walkways. He was speaking into his radio, oblivious to our presence thirty feet below.

"You think you can take him out?" I asked the Ender father, who nodded his assent wordlessly. In a flash of purplish smoke, he was gone, and the next thing I knew he was up on the catwalk, wrapping his spindly arms around the hostile's neck and snapping it with ease. As the body fell to the catwalk, gunshots, un-silenced, rang out in the cold air, and the Ender father disappeared, teleporting away with another puff of smoke.

"Stay hidden," I hissed at the others, who crept farther into the shadows. We listened intently to the men on the catwalks. There were two voices initially.

"Man down—point man's down, I've got no pulse on him—"

"Mother of fuck, what was that thing? That didn't just happen…"

"Do you think it was one of those Wither things? Think they could be here?" A third voice joined in, more high-pitched than the others.

"Nah, that wasn't a Wither, or a Rasper for that matter," the gruffest of the three spoke. I could see him pick up the body, and swing it over his shoulder. "They aren't my problem right now, and they aren't yours. Send for more men down here, Clarkson. Whatever that thing is, we'll hunt it down—besides, we need more men down at Cold Storage anyway."

The three disappeared, carting away the body of their fallen point man. The Ender father returned with a pop, his eyes narrow and his fists still clenched.

"They almost got me…I didn't see the other three, they almost got me…"

"We need to act fast," I said, ignoring the Ender father. "They said more reinforcements would be coming…we'll stand no chance."

"We're close to Cold Storage, aren't we?" Celine asked, sweat visible on her brow. She clenched her rifle tightly, so tightly that her knuckles were turning white.

"Close…there must be another way, besides the bridge…let's check out this floor, and see if we can find an alternate access route."

The vats seemed never-ending; the other side of the room was visible, but it took me nearly ten minutes to get to it. Perhaps the size was larger than I had estimated; I was never good at math anyway, so my guess was probably incorrect.

Gunfire rang out, and close; I tensed up, waiting for more bullets to fly past me. But none did; the gunfire continued, but it was in another room, close to us, but still far away.

"Do you think it could be the others?"

Celine was closest to me; Marcus and the Ender father had gone their separate ways, searching the room for any sort of power generator, door or alternate entrance to Cold Storage.

"Likely…but I'm not sure…"

Neither of us were reassured; it was almost definitely the other group, having an encounter with the Black Ops. Just as my thoughts returned to time, and our lack of it, from the other side of a vat something hissed, a noise like that of a door sliding open. It _was _a door sliding open; Celine and I both took cover in the shadows of the vat, as more gruff, heavy voices resounded in the silence, this time muffled as if they wore masks.

"All clear—"

"Not likely…they could be hiding anywhere. They wouldn't have gotten farther than this. Bravo's heading for the catwalks now, and Eta's got another group of them pinned down. Fan out, check the floor…they could be anywhere…"

I was squashed against a concrete wall by Celine as she tried to move further into the darkness, tried to hide herself more. Although I saw fear in her beautiful eyes, felt her chest heave rapidly as she lost control of her breathing, I knew that she was ready to kill; her rifle was raised towards the aperture in-between the vats, the two that we were hiding between. If someone were to show themselves, she would shoot.

"No sign so far…"

"Don't let your guard down. They're armed, and dangerous…one single mistake is all it takes—"

"CONTACT! NORTH WALL, MOVING!"

Two dozen gunshots rang out at once, some loud, some silenced. Whoever it was, either Marcus or the Ender father, had been spotted and marked by the soldiers.

At that same moment, one of the team members appeared around the giant vat, raising a shotgun and pointing it directly at the tiny niche we hid in. Celine's rifle popped; the man was hit in the kneecap, and crumpled over in agony, his groans and slurred speech muffled by the mask. Another pop, his facemask was ruptured, and he was dead, his blood splattering against the plastic shield.

Celine was now on the move, leaping away from me and running into the darkness ahead of us. I was prompted by more gunfire to run after her, slipping on some of the dead soldier's blood as I left my hiding spot and became engaged with two Black Ops soldiers, who were firing at our position. They had no flashlights with them; they wore night vision goggles, something that all of us lacked. My optics were decent enough to give me a spot, but they were only useful when I stared straight into them.

I took one of them in the head, knocking him backwards; the other man tried to duck behind cover, but Celine's round clipped his shoulder, and he fell backwards, wounded but still dangerous.

Gunfire rang out from above, and bullets clanged off of the concrete and the metal vats; there were soldiers on the catwalks, firing down at us. I finished off the wounded soldier and took up his position, safe from the fire from above but still vulnerable to flanking attacks. One of the men had a flashlight, visible from my position; I popped him twice in the back, severing his spine and dropping him.

Though he went down easily, his friends were smart enough to detect me, and took cover as four more of their allies ran off in the opposite direction, chasing someone else. We were now taking fire once more, bullets bouncing off every object, nearly deafening as they hit hard, compact metal.

_Celine…if you can get a bead on them…_

They were unaware that Celine was with me; although they had night vision, I was certain they didn't have thermal optics, they were unable to find us earlier and they wouldn't be able to find her now.

_But they have a sight on me…if I move, even an inch, I'll be hit…_

To my relief, I heard a sickening squish and a cry of pain coming from the shooters' position. One of them had been hit, hopefully by Celine.

"Man down over here, we need medical aid, stat—"

There was another sound, a dull, almost inaudible pop, and the other shooter was cut off. There was more gunfire, and it seemed to be multiplying. I was about to thank Celine for giving me a respite, but just as I rose up, Mouse and an injured Paul showed up. Mouse was fine; she was reloading her contraption, the one that was attached to her wrist. Paul, however, was injured; there was a large stain of blood near his hip, and he clutched it awkwardly, wincing with every step he took.

"That was…you guys?" I asked, barely audible over the stop-and-start gunfire.

"She took one of them out—I don't know who took out the first shooter—"

"Celine got him—where is everyone else?" I asked frantically, as there was another loud scream farther away.

"Miguel and Rina should be around here somewhere…Darius was following us, but we lost him back at the stairwell leading down—"

The Black Ops soldier with the shotgun appeared out of nowhere; he leapt out from behind cover before Paul could even finish, and fired at him point blank. Our reactions were lightning-fast; as I fired four rounds into his gut, Mouse launched her bolt, which she had just finished loading, and dispatched him with a shot to the head.

It was too late, however; Paul, already bleeding from his previous injury, was dead as soon as he hit the floor, his upper chest destroyed by the shotgun. His eyes were still, his mouth was open, and his body twitched as his life came to a screeching halt.

"Shit…SHIT! HELP!"

Celine, who had always detested Paul, was now the first one at his side, leaning down over him. The entire upper half of his torso was devastated; heart, lungs, everything. I couldn't look down at him; there were more bullets coming at us, black figures moving through the darkness…

"Get down, both of you—Paul's dead, there's no use, Celine…GET DOWN!"

I threw her furiously to the ground, and dropped with her, just as several bullets pierced the air that now occupied the space where we had been standing. Mouse was crouched behind a metal banister, firing off another dart randomly. Her weapon, though precise and deadly, was almost useless in these circumstances.

Celine was still on the ground, trying to roll herself over; I could see that she was bleeding from her mouth, having hit the ground with too much force. There was nothing I could do about it; I had to find the others, try to rally them…

"Leon…what the hell are you—"

"Stay here, keep them at bay…I'm going to try and find—"

"What are you—"

"STAY HERE! Kill them all, I don't fucking care, I have to find the others!"

I ran off in the darkness, brushing past Mouse and tripping over a body as I ran. I ran past an injured enemy soldier, holding his blood in, crying desperately for help from behind his mask. I ran past two dead bodies, both Black Ops, lying on the floor like ragdolls. I passed Herobrine, withdrawing his sword from a soldier's gut, pushing his limp corpse to the floor as he ripped the godly blade out.

I found Marcus as well. I almost fell over him; I was going so quickly, so recklessly, that it was difficult to stop. He was lying against the far wall beside a janitor's closet, the right side of the room. He was badly wounded, I could tell; slumped against the concrete wall, his shirt and pants stained with blood, pressing one hand to his hip and using the other to hold his rifle up.

"Leon…I've lost a lot of blood…they got me good, damn them…"

He raised his rifle slightly; I thought he was trying to set it against the wall, but he popped off a round. There had been a soldier behind me; I as turned around, raising my own weapon, the man collapsed backwards, his head knocked rearward by the force of the bullet.

"Thanks…"

"Just go, Leon…I'm not making it out of here, we both know that…"

I wanted to say something on the contrary, to argue with Marcus; but there was no point in doing so. His life was fading; his skin was pale and wan, his breathing was uneven and forced, and his blood was everywhere.

"I'll kill…as many as I can…before I'm done here," he gasped, raising his rifle again, and putting it to his shoulder. "You've got a job to do…go…"

I heeded his words; the others were alive still, and I had to help them…

"Goodbye…Marcus…"

"Take care of yourself, man."

He had difficulty saying this; he stuttered momentarily, and then was still again, keeping the rifle aloft and keeping his eyes focused on the corridor in front of him. It pained me to leave him to die alone; but gunfire came in from above, and I realized that the others could still be alive, could still be waiting for me…

"We're taking heavy fire—goddamnit, what happened to Eta?"

Somebody was yelling, whether into a radio or to their comrades I couldn't tell; but it was close, and in the darkness, I could make out their shape…

"Eta's on their way, they're coming—"

The radio he held responded, but the soldier did not; my anger fueled me as I wrapped my arms around his neck and twisted furiously, snapping his neck in a single second. The crack was stomach-churning; it was a nasty sound, bloodcurdling and horrible. The body fell against a nearby vat, and I could tell by the crunching sound that came when his face hit the hard metal that he hadn't been wearing a mask.

I finally found Miguel, Darius and Rina, taking cover inside an office cubicle located somewhere in the middle of the room. Rina was the one holding most of the Black Ops off; her rifle was popping out shots at a good rate, while Darius sniped with his revolver. Miguel was on the floor, his face contorted with agony as he applied pressure to a gruesome wound on his arm.

The two soldiers attempting to kill them stood no chance; I caught both of them in the head, flooring them instantly. This gave me a chance to slip inside the office block before more soldiers arrived; overhead, on the catwalks, I could hear dozens more, their boots making quite a din.

"I'm hit, but I'm ok," Miguel whispered as he lay on the floor, pale. "I'll live."

"He hasn't lost too much blood," Rina spoke, still clutching her gun tightly. "Have you found the others? We got split—"

"Paul's dead, Celine and Mouse are holding down the fort over that way, and Marcus…"

I grit my teeth, bowing my head as well; I couldn't finish my sentence, couldn't say the words I wanted to say.

"He…can't be…"

"Last time I saw him…he was still alive, but bleeding badly…I don't think he made it…"

Rina bowed her head as well, sitting down on the floor behind the wall. Miguel tried to sit up and take the weapon from her.

"We need to get everyone together again, and try to get out of here. There's too many—"

It was almost a clean shot. The bullet struck Miguel directly above the heart, and time slowed for a second.

He stood stock still for that cruelly exaggerated moment, wavering on the brink of death. And then he toppled backwards, hitting the carpeted floor of the cubicle with a dull thud.

"NO! NO!"

Rina's despairing, agonized cry was more terrible than the wailing of any wounded man. She flopped down over Miguel was he fell still, his hands twitching and his breathing becoming shallow and rapid.

There were more of them, pouring into the corridor between several vats, the hallway in front of the cubicle. Darius dropped two of them with his revolver before he too was hit in the shoulder, and he fell as well. As I tried to pick up my rifle, Herobrine and the Enderman teleported directly behind them, and took the entire squad completely by surprise. They slashed through the team, Herobrine's sword cutting through armor and the Enderman's claws slashing through their masks, raking across faces and exposed throats.

"Miguel…"

"Darius, you alive over there?" I called out to him.

"Yeah…I'm wounded, but I'm ok…"

"Miguel…no…"

Rina's pitiful pleading was heart-wrenching; she knelt over him, shaking his shoulders, as the rest of the Black Ops soldiers fell before Herobrine's onslaught, unable to take him down and outmatched in terms of melee prowess.

Miguel was breathing, and his eyes were moving, but he was barely hanging on; the bullet wound had clipped his heart, and I knew that the internal bleeding would be severe. He wouldn't last long if we didn't get him help.

"Miguel…you can't die, not now…please…I need you…_please_..."

I tried to drag Rina off of Miguel; he had little time left, and we needed to get him to a medic before he bled to death.

"Rina…we need to get him out of here—"

"Don't die, please…don't die…"

There was no pulling her off; she grasped Miguel's shoulders tightly, tears dripping down her cheeks like warm rain. Darius had managed to get himself back up, and put down another Black Ops soldier who was retrieving the body of a dead comrade.

"Hero—HERO!" I cried out, as Darius spotted another hostile and engaged him. Herobrine appeared almost instantly at my side, his sword dripping blood and his clothing splattered with it.

"Leon—"

"I need you to get the others out of here. Miguel's badly wounded…he needs medical attention, Celine isn't trained enough, you need to get him topside—"

More gunfire rang out, closer to us.

"Get back, get back! There's too many of them—"

It was Mouse's unmistakable voice, and I knew that their position had been compromised. As I wondered whether Celine was alive or not, she turned the corner and almost ran into Herobrine, followed by Mouse. The latter had refused to pick up a weapon; she still used her unique dart-gun, even though it was extremely difficult to reload.

"We're outnumbered even more now, they're bringing in reinforcements Leon," she gasped, clutching her knees. We had to act quickly; there was only one thing I knew I could do, without endangering everyone else.

"Go."

"Go—what?"

"Go on," I answered Celine. "You need to get Miguel back topside, and Darius needs aid as well—"

"And what about you, then?" she asked haughtily; I knew this would be difficult, convincing Celine to leave me and head back up. The way was clear; they just had to proceed back the way they came, and use the alternate staircase instead of the elevator.

"I'm going on—there's no point in you risking your life for me—"

"It's what I've been doing for weeks, Leon! We've had each other's backs, through thick and thin, and you want me to just leave?!"

"I don't want you to just leave, I want you to live! If I die, I don't want you to go with me!" I snapped back at her. There were more of them coming, Miguel was dying…

"Herobrine…Herobrine, get them topside—"

"I can't leave you, Leon. I made a promise to protect you, even if I die."

Herobrine was steadfast in his decision; he would come with me, come hell or high water. I decided to have the Ender father escort the rest back upstairs. The Enderman picked Miguel up without a problem, and led the group down the corridor. One by one, the survivors filed out of the office, with Celine being the last to go.

"If you die down there…I'll never forgive you…"

Celine had never cried openly before; she rarely was over emotional, even in difficult times. But I could see tears streaming down her face, even as she smiled. I wanted to say more, but I couldn't bring myself to. I could barely say goodbye.

"I'll find a way back…"

"Promise?"

"I promise."

She ran off after the others, and I was left with Herobrine.

"I'll give you as much cover as I can—I'll use my mobility as much as possible."

I wasn't sure where we were going, but we had to find another way down. I was gunning for one of the doors out of the room; there were Black Ops everywhere now, closing in on us.

Herobrine teleported as much as he possibly could, flashing behind enemy soldiers before they could react and decapitating them swiftly. It was a bit gut-wrenching; to see these elite soldiers go down so easily was pitiful, as Hero made it clean and swift. He was incredibly fast; at one moment, he would be behind one of the soldiers, and in the next second he would be behind another, swinging his fiery blade like a madman.

I did my part as best as I could; I was low on ammo, but I had enough to carve a path through anyone who stood in my way. The enemy force was confused, I could tell; they weren't trained to fight someone like Herobrine and my sharp shooting and quick reflexes made it worse for them. They wouldn't let up, though; even as I exited through one of the many doors, there were more of them pursuing us, emptying their clips into the wall and doorframe as we both ran.

"I have no idea where we're going, Hero—"

"It's no worse than anywhere else," he reassured me. He was finely painted in blood; his sword was completely red from so much intensive use.

As we proceeded further down the stairs, we finally came to a door that we could use to our advantage. It was sealable from the inside; as we were outnumbered, in a very tight space, and pretty much trapped already, we decided to seal it using the manual emergency controls. The steel door was shut tight; it would take several satchel charges or a tank round to bust through it.

"Well…that ought to buy us some time," Herobrine said, his voice calm and controlled. Unlike the rest of us, he was not troubled by the combat; it was like a day in the park for him, albeit a bloody, gory day in the park.

"They'll find a way in," I warned grimly, knowing that we didn't have too long.

"Yes, but we have more time. That is what matters."

I began to look around the area.

It was a large room, not as large as the one we were previously in, but it was pretty sizeable. There were massive 8 foot by 8 foot square containers everywhere, all freezing cold and containing all matter of various chemicals, boxes and materials.

"So…this is Cold Storage?"

"It sure looks like it," Herobrine answered, studying the room as well. "The blaze rods should be in here…"

I began to desperately look around for blaze rods—they would stand out, mesmerizingly yellow and glowing brilliantly.

_Put into cold storage because they were too hot for normal storage…how hot are these things?_

We didn't have to look too far to find them; they were, like most of the other materials, just stored randomly in some dim corner of the room, inside a massive industrial-sized freezer. I was smart enough to turn the temperature down before opening the system; it would be incredibly cold inside, cold enough to damage my body if I were to make contact with any interior surface.

The system beeped as we shut it down, and the main doors opened. As I reached inside, I felt one of the blaze rods.

_It's…warm? It's like it's been sitting out in the sun on a summer day…how hot ARE these things?_

"How are we going to transport them out of here?" I asked Herobrine. We hadn't thought about how to extract the precious cargo yet.

"We'll find a way…if there's an alternate exit, we can take several of them and then make a break for it. You still have the ender pearl, correct?"

"Yeah, right in my pock—"

The main door exploded with a massive bang and a blast of smoke. The dust encircled us, swirling around me like a blinding vortex; I felt a hand reach into my pocket and extract the ender pearl as other, rougher hands threw me to the ground, knocking the wind out of me.

I could only see facemasks rising above me before the massive, gauntleted fist roared down and knocked me unconscious.

xXXXXXXXXXXXXXx

It was a total disaster; they had been forced to retreat empty-handed, without Leon. The pearl was missing—had the Black Ops taken it? Had Leon ensured that it was out of their hands before he was killed? He hadn't returned…

Dr. Liam Caldwell assumed that Leon Walker was dead; his group had been forced to flee Riverside due to bombing and attacks by Black Ops forces.

As the convoy arrived back at the Capricorn, empty-handed and devastated, Dr. Caldwell knew that something was amiss. There was a large crowd of people in the tarmac outside of the submarine, and a sleek black helicopter was in the middle of the mass. The doctor was on a hair's trigger right now; a long, exhausting day of action coupled with the loss of a good number of his men had made for the worst day of his life. Not to mention that all of those deaths were in vain.

"Excuse me, move out of the way, what the hell—"

The man who stood by the helicopter in the center of the mob was completely foreign; he wore an insignia Dr. Caldwell had never seen before, but his clothes were those of a pilot…

"And who the hell might you be?" Caldwell asked the mysterious pilot. The crowd of Capricorn soldiers and civilians had gone quiet as their leader stepped into their midst.

"The name's Cormac, wing commander of the 5th Free Air Assault Squadron. I trust that you are the head man around here?"

The pilot's wispy, carefree air angered Dr. Caldwell; he had no idea the sufferings his upstart nation had been through recently.

"I am…and what's your business here?"

"I represent the Free Western Republic, sir," the pilot named Cormac stated, leaning against the chopper. "I was told that there was a significant gathering of people here loyal to the true government…people also possibly immune to the Withering. I was sent here to investigate these rumors…and I guess they're true. Are they not?"

Caldwell had gone from angry to utterly bemused; as the survivors of Riverside began to gather around him, he tried to process everything.

_True government? Free Western Republic? Withering? What the hell was all of this?_

"Are you—"

"From the west? Yes, sir," Cormac answered airily.

"The…west? Where the evacuations went? There are still people over there?" Caldwell asked, now intrigued.

"Well, yes…but it's a complex matter, sir. Not something you want to get involved in if you'd like to keep your easygoing life."

Caldwell was a bit miffed by this statement, but he was intrigued all the same; if this guy had the balls to call Caldwell's difficult life "easygoing", there must've been a lot of problems out west.

"Well…I can't stay for long. The carrier's waiting at the mouth of the river to take us out west. It's now or never, Doc."

It was time to consider this…

Half of his crew and soldiers were dead, and the outposts were damaged and ruined.

The Black Ops were still rife in the city, and their bombers were still flying overhead.

Leon was missing, most likely dead, and the last reason he had to stay in Langsford Peak had disappeared with him.

"Give me ten minutes…I need to give this some thought."

"Ten minutes it is, then. Just remember…we could certainly use you out west, sir…you won't believe the shit we're in…"

**So…Paul and Marcus dead, the lives of Darius and Miguel on the line, Leon missing and/or dead, and a mysterious stranger from the west randomly appearing at the **_**Capricorn**_**. This cliffhanger will probably get me murdered by about a half dozen angry people. **

**Reviews are definitely welcome! The next chapter will take a bit longer to come out than this one, so just stay frosty!**


	34. In the Company of Strangers

**This didn't take too long, did it? No complaints? I hope not—I'm trying my best to get one out every few days. There's a lot of things I have to do, so if it's a bit late, don't worry—it'll be out soon.**

**Also in this chapter—REFERENCES! Yes, I reference other major fanfics and their characters—briefly, but they are there. And not too hard to catch ;D**

**Oh, and I fixed a minor continuity error that I spotted. That's all.**

**REVIEW ANSWERS!**

**Zach of Death: Yes, I do miss Paul and his sarcastic character. He died valiantly, though, and his death will not be in vain.**

**PigeonFligher: **_**Is**_** Miguel alive? Well, you won't find out yet—so that's still technically a cliffhanger. And there's more cliffys to come…so I guess prepare that boiling caramel D:**

**HPE24: Review spam success! I'll try to answer as much as I can in here—I already answered some via PM. Your brother sounds quite sadistic—he enjoyed the Ender children dying? HOW TERRIBLE DX**

**And yes, there will be blood. Black Ops soldiers will die in some pretty horrible ways later in the story—I have to find ways that are not too gruesome to be M-rated, but ones that are appropriate for heartless murderers.**

**And in terms of couples, personally I do prefer MiguelxRina; I think that they make a really cute couple. I'll explore more of it later (if Miguel lives…EVIL CLIFFHANGER). If you want to draw them, you're more than welcome to—just ask for any details. And if not, that's fine; I figured it would be a good suggestion :D**

**And I get my expertise on shooters from games, quite often in fact. Like Mechanix, I play Call of Duty, along with Battlefield, Counter-Strike, Killing Floor and other gory, bloody, profanity-laced fragfests. YAY :D**

**TerrarianCreeper: I can't say if Darius will die or not, but I will say that it would be kind of mean to just have him "die of blood loss inbetween chapters". No guarantees, but he might live another day to hand off his beautiful weapon.**

**BlakeyBoy: Ah…so many questions to be answered! You're right about the Withers—I'll explore more of that later, and the mysterious Raspers. **

**Dagsar12: Oh yes…you might want to burn me in boiling caramel for my evil cliffhangers—idea courtesy of PigeonFligher, who LOOOOOVES caramel. And yes, as I mentioned in HPE's answer, Black Ops will die. And I have to think of some pretty gruesome ways.**

**So…without further ado, another chapter!**

I don't know how long I had been out for; hours, maybe even a day or so. It couldn't have been too long; I woke up on a medium-sized bed in a small, cramped room with a couple of windows on the furthest wall. Sunlight, bright, pure sunlight, something I had not seen for weeks, filtered through the clear Plexiglas and flooded the warm interior.

It reminded me of my apartment bedroom, although slightly larger and well-lit. The floor was covered with a smooth, velvety layer of carpet; the walls were painted a warm, red hue, and the furniture was all dark wood, mostly cherry. It had a very comfortable feeling to it; almost like home. But I knew it wasn't home; something didn't feel right.

It felt as if…I was _moving_.

Every single muscle inside me ached, protesting as I threw the heavy comforter off and rose up out of bed. My clothes had been changed somehow; the old blood-stained, torn shirt and pants had been replaced with fresh-looking slack jeans and a pure white designer tee. I ignored the throbbing pain that raced up and down my legs, my arms and my back, and stumbled over to the tiny round window. And I realized why we were moving.

I was on a plane, high above the clouds; a massive grayish blanket laid still thousands of feet below us, obscuring the ground all the way to what looked like a shore. We were above water, a massive blue space that seemed to be endless, the world appearing to be a giant watercolor portrait. We were flying west, judging by the position of the sunlight and the way the clouds were moving ever so slowly, across the vast expanse of sea…

"Awake, are we?"

The man I turned around to face was in full military dress, with a large amount of decorations adorning his chest and epaulettes topping off his shoulders. Although he was dressed sharply and professionally, his worn, old face was smiling brightly and optimistically, bringing some sense of warmth to his otherwise razor-sharp aura.

"Where…where the hell am I?"

It was the first question that came to mind; admittedly, there could've been better questions, but in my half-conscious state, it was the only thing I wanted to know.

"A good question…please, if you would be so kind as to follow me, I'll make you comfortable."

The sharp dresser led the way out of the room, and I followed him down a tight hallway. This was no ordinary airplane; there were no seats, no cramped rows of tiny fabric chairs, or even first-class reclining chairs. There were just rooms; it was like a VIP plane or something like that. I was led to a small room with a booth and a table, and a small window on the wall.

"Please, make yourself at home. Can I get you anything to drink?" the man asked me.

"Er…water, please…just some water…"

I had just realized how incredibly thirsty I was, after Riverside.

"Just a moment…it will be right here."

In less than thirty seconds flat, a finely-dressed waiter arrived bearing a tray with two glasses full of clear, cold water. He handed one to each of us, and I downed it in a single gulp; I realized that I had made a fool of myself, dripping water all down my chin as I indulged myself. My face began to redden furiously as I wiped some of the droplets off my chin before they rolled down and wet my shirt.

"All better now, are we?"

"Well, yeah…a bit better…"

I was pretty damn hungry too, but I figured that it could wait for a little while longer. The door to the compartment was closed, and I was alone with this stranger.

"So…I know who you are," he began, sipping his drink calmly, enjoying it. "But do you recognize me?"

"I can't say that I do," I answered sheepishly, bowing my head ever so slightly. The table was finely polished; not a single mote of dust marred its shimmering surface.

"I used to be a colonel in the army, pretty high post. That was before…the disaster struck."

"You still haven't told me your name," I spoke quietly. I could tell that he was taken aback momentarily at my interruption, but he did not become angry. Rather, he chuckled.

"Ah, of course…I forgot my manners. Silas Lithgow, at your service. _Colonel_ Silas Lithgow, if you want to be proper about it."

I had never heard the name, and I did not recognize the face…

_So how did this guy know ME?_

"Back when the drug wars were raging in Northdownshire, and the military had to—"

"How do you know me, Mr. Lithgow? Have we met before?"

"I beg your pardon?" Silas answered, interrupted once more.

"How do you…know me? You said that you know me…have we met before, and I don't remember?"

Silas laughed again, finishing off the rest of his water; I was tensing up, clenching my fists as I suppressed my anger. He was a hospitable, peaceable man, but he wasn't answering my questions, and that was beginning to irritate me.

"I've never met you. But you've been the talk of the nation for a few weeks now."

"I've been…what?" I asked.

"It's you we've been following, tracking…one of the most important people on the planet right now, and you probably don't even realize it…"

"And what's that supposed to mean?" I asked sharply, staring Silas down. He recognized that I was becoming irritated, and his face began to darken.

"You are Leon Walker…you were a 'nobody' before the apocalypse."

It wasn't really fun to be called a "nobody"; it was true, that I was little more than a faceless taxpayer to the government, but it stung all the same. Nevertheless, I continued to listen intently.

"But now…what you hold, and what you know, are keys to our survival. You might not realize it yet, but…you are the most important person in the world at this moment. _You _are critical."

"What…do you mean?"

_Was he referring to the pearl? How the hell did he know about the pearl…was he one of…_

"It's a shame that you dealt with my loyal soldiers with such hostility—"

Pure civility was the only thing that kept me from strangling this man on the spot; I was reaching across the table before my own good nature got the best of me, and I relaxed only slightly. I had almost throttled Silas where he sat; although he had not moved, he was clearly shaken, and choked back something as he continued.

"I know that they were a bit harsh—"

"A bit harsh? A bit _fucking _harsh? They murdered my friends, they murdered dozens of people who simply stood in their way!" You call that a _bit _harsh? A _BIT_?"

"Leon, please…be _civilized_," he stressed, clearly shaken by my outburst. "I know that what they've done is murder, that they've spilled blood that needn't have been spilled. And I gave this order…I will admit it openly, I told them to go in with extreme prejudice…"

As he spoke, I noticed that his voice was becoming softer and more choked up; it had hurt him to give an order to kill people, innocent people. Maybe he wasn't so terrible after all—it didn't make up for the death of my friends and family, but I appreciated his remorse and honesty.

"I'm sorry for what you've lost, Leon. If I could've done so otherwise, I would've…"

"You didn't have to send armed men in—"

"I had to!" he yelled as he pounded the table. "I couldn't have sent diplomats or emissaries into hostile territory—remember, Leon we had left Langsford Peak for dead! We had left it for criminals, scavengers, warlords—people who would rather put heads on pikes than have a decent chat! The Black Ops unit was the best choice for the mission…yes, they spilled blood, yes, they did murder, but it will all be worth it—"

"What is going on now?" I asked, changing the subject drastically. Silas was taken aback again, at a momentary loss for words; but he decided to answer my questions nevertheless. He cleared his throat, calmed himself down a degree, and began.

"I'm sorry…I should've filled you in earlier. My mistake."

"Just tell me now…I don't know anything about what happened after the evacuations."

"Well…I suppose it's not a big secret anymore, so I'll go on," he cleared his throat once more. "For a hundred years, the government has been preparing a continent five-hundred miles to the west of the coastline for an event such as this. In case we had to leave, start anew…we'd have grand cities to go to, farms and villages and factories ready, waiting for us…it seemed like a perfect plan. And when everything happened at once—the fires, the volcano, the tsunami and quake—it was the best plan we had."

"Nearly 500,000 people made it to the other side, thanks to military evacuations. It was paradise at first—brand new buildings, clean cities and towns, jobs and positions for everyone. But paradise is always lost…and it happened all too soon…"

He continued.

"President Cook died two days after arrival when a supercharged creeper attacked his convoy. That put me in charge—"

"You're the president?" I asked with only slight interest.

"I am…as of right now."

He said this as if he didn't expect to hold the presidency any longer.

"That put me and the ex-Secretary of Defense, Mina Wycokrwyz, in charge. As president and vice president, respectively. And, well, after that, things deteriorated…people didn't like us in charge. The new government was shaky, there were people who supported going back for rescue ops…I could sense dissent rising."

"There was little I could do to quell it…food shortages were common after the first two weeks, since we didn't have enough food stocked up. I was unpopular; since I had never held a government position, and many didn't trust me…I suppose that the straw that broke the camel's back came with the bombing at the cinema."

"Bombing?"

"Yes…those madmen Farouq Nameer and Aaron Sellers. Planted a bomb right inside a theater during a crowded showing, killed hundreds of people. Half of Congress seceded, decided to make their own nation…Farouq and his radicals succeeded as well, since they were pretty much trying to kill everybody. And that's where the conflict began…"

It was all a huge rush for me; I had just learned that the West, which was supposedly a paradise, was just as bad as the homeland.

"So…three factions…all in combat?"

"For the past two weeks, there has been fighting, yes. But the legitimate government is taking care of it—"

"And which one is legitimate?"

"Ours—do you doubt it?"

It was a challenge, one that I did not rise up to. The president changed the subject instead.

"Leon…people are dying out there. The main cities are safe, but the countryside is suffering. There is a way we can stop it—we are willing to reunite with our secessionist brothers, but we can only do that on two conditions."

"Name them, then."

"Very well," he responded, once again taken aback by my abruptness. "First of all, Farouq and his cells must be destroyed. They absolutely refuse to return to us—all they wish to do is destroy."

"And second?"

"The second condition…is dependent on you, Leon."

I knew what he was getting to; the pearl was not with me.

"Which is?"

"You know what I speak of…so much blood spilt over such a small object, something that seems so incredibly unimportant…"

"You speak of the pearl," I stated, without any change in emotion.

"I do…we already have the rods, Leon. I am familiar with Dr. Kagsttrom's research—it is no secret anymore. The power of the pearl that you possess…it is beyond reckoning, something that could propel our civilization to new heights—"

"And what exactly do you plan to do with it?" I asked, folding my arms.

"I plan to make a way out of this mess..."

"How so?"

"Allow me to explain," he hissed impatiently. "The pearl you possess has more power than anything we have now—we no longer need to use fusion or nuclear power to part the dimensional curtains. This…_orb_…has the energy of a star, contained in a tiny, smooth sphere."

"We have been creating a portal out of our world—to another world, one with less strife, misery and woe. We can go to a better place, finally escape the problems that have plagued us for centuries…all we need is the pearl to power the portal, to part the fabric of dimensions, and cross into a new age…"

_So this was the threat Notch was talking about…he doesn't even know the damage that the pearl will do…_

"We would be heroes, Leon. Heroes who delivered our people from disaster…the history of our world is full of them, tens of thousands of years, dozens of continents. Their names etched in stone…the three Users, Sima Herdrath, Adeline Jones…faded into myth and legend, heroes of past times, of other places in our world…our time is _now_, Leon. _We _can be the heroes now…it's our turn to save our people—"

Something was wrong…something was _terribly _wrong…it was just a feeling…

"Stand by my side, Leon. We're the good guys here…we can unite our people once more, and find a true paradise…"

I could hear someone's voice…someone else, just as desperate, just as pleading…

"_Get into position! Now! HE'S IN DANGER!"_

"Leon…please…"

"_NO!"_

"Please…"

It was like a giant boulder hit the plane; it shook violently, throwing me against the wall and smashing the window open. It had the sound of metal grating on metal, a heavy, hard screech. I could tell we were losing altitude, and quickly—air rushed out of the hole where the window had been, blocking out all noise…

Another heavy smash, and the plane turned upside-down; I hit the ceiling hard, breaking my nose on the thick plastic. President Lithgow was still tumbling, trying to bring himself back up again; as I reached out to him, trying to grab his hand, the wall of the fuselage busted open.

I was pulled out by the sudden rush of depressurized air, sucked out of the airplane by the vortex that had formed. The entire fuselage was on fire, and the plane was losing altitude at an alarming rate, heading for a massive expanse of open desert. The last thing I saw before blacking out was a massive blue space above me, and tranquil ocean waters below…

**On a final note, if any of the people whose characters I referenced are upset or offended, please let me know, and I'll apologize. I figured it would be cool to put in a slight reference to them—not trying to copy off you or steal your stuff, just showing my love :D**

**Until next time, everyone! Expect another chapter out by the end of the week!**


	35. The Deceitful Face of Paradise

**New chapter! HOORAY!**

**Some of you might not like this chapter because it changes the setting completely, adds new characters, and there's an intimate scene between Leon and Celine that contains (non-explicit) nudity. Again, note that it is NON-EXPLICIT. It's only referred to…so I hope that no feathers are ruffled. It's supposed to be romantic, but I kind of fail at romance, so I tried my best -_-**

**And, of course, review answers :D**

**Dagsar12: You made an account! Congrats! I am honored that you made it just for reading my fic, but you could also post your own stories, if you so choose. I would highly suggest it.**

**PigeonFligher: You'll see Celine here—the entire Langsford group is here (except for the fallen in Riverside). And Silas is dead—not by strangulation, but something probably more painful. And fiery. **

**HPE24: Yeah, I edited Alex out, because he didn't fit. Sorry, MechanixAngel…it would cause problems. And the Users fit in very well—they can be ancient, since there are no modern-day references to them. Heroes of an older time…**

**TerrarianCreeper: Indeed it did escalate quickly. And no, the madmen aren't OCs—there's only one main evil *human* antagonist here, and I hope you enjoy here. She'll feature more as newer chapters come out. And yeah, Leon will be more conscious in the future—it's just fun to black a character out at the end of a chapter ;D**

**xXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXx**

Being unconscious sucked—it was the second time in a single day that I had fallen into a state of unconsciousness, and missed another day and a half of life. When I finally woke up, I was on a bed again, but not the same one on the airplane; this one was less comfortable, and I was on terra firma once more.

My head felt like a brick of lead sitting atop my neck; I was woozy, dazed and confused; the room was much more stark and unfinished than my accommodations on the doomed airplane. The only pieces of furniture were the bed, a dresser and nightstand by it, and a small, plain chair at the food of the bed. There was a single window on the right side of the room, through which harsh sunlight streamed through. The sky outside was a clear, flawless azure, a sight that I had not seen in weeks. I hadn't realized how much I had missed a blue sky…

"He's alive, at least…thank Notch for that…"

The door had opened, admitting two strangers and two very familiar faces inside. Celine and Herobrine had both survived Riverside; although the latter simply smiled and stood in the doorframe, his white eyes glowing warmly, Celine nearly suffocated me as she leapt up onto me and hugged me tightly. It felt like a constrictor winding around me; after a few seconds, she let go, embarrassed, and retreated from the bed.

"Well…you are feeling alright, I assume? You seem to be just fine," one of the strangers, dressed in khakis and military fatigues, asked me.

"Yeah…a bit dizzy, hungry as hell…"

"Well, you've been out for over twenty-four hours. I was beginning to lose hope that you would ever wake up. But…I guess you proved us all wrong," he chuckled to himself. Celine was whispering something inaudible to Herobrine; I wanted to know what it was, but before I could ask him or hear anything, the military man began to speak again.

"Doc, check his vitals…yeah, it's necessary, just as a precaution, I think he'll be fine personally…"

The other stranger, a man dressed in bloodstained scrubs, approached me and began to check my vitals—pulse, blood flow, breathing, everything. He was visibly worn and exhausted, and his eyes were bloodshot and dry. He had seen a lot of action recently—the bloodstains made that clear.

"He seems fine," the doctor muttered, rubbing his eyes after he removed his rubber gloves. "No problems at all…"

"Well, that's settled then. If you two don't mind…I would like a few moments alone with our guest."

The man in fatigues was referring to Celine and Herobrine; they unwillingly began to leave the room.

"Wait!"

Both of them stopped.

"I…do you have the pearl?" I asked sheepishly, as everyone in the room stared at me for a second. Herobrine slowly reached into the pocket of his torn blue pants and withdrew a small, shiny purple orb. He smiled only slightly before replacing it and leaving the room, taking Celine with him. The sleep-deprived doctor slouched out after them and closed the door behind him, leaving me alone with the other stranger.

"That was a hell of a fall you would've suffered. If our mythical friend hadn't saved you, it's likely you wouldn't be here," the man spoke softly. Somewhere outside, there was a deep, percussive rumble, like that of a jet or plane.

"Herobrine…he saved me?"

"Caught you in midair, he did. Well, according to him…but I would believe it. Point is, you're alive, and the ender pearl is safe—"

"How do you know about the pearl?" I asked suspiciously. I wasn't sure whose hands I was in; everything was still very confusing, and even now I found myself longing for the comfort of Langsford Peak. Even though it was a dangerous, dirty city, it wasn't quite as confusing and unnerving as the new land I had fallen into.

"I have heard the entire story…from a man named Liam Caldwell, whom I have heard of before. He is a trustworthy doctor, and he told me everything from start to finish. _Everything_," he spoke.

"So…the pearl, the blaze rods…every—"

"_Everything_. About you, your community, your conflict, your exodus. A _very _interesting story, if I do say so myself…and I'm glad that you all made it safely here. Relatively safely…"

"How did Caldwell and the others get here? I mean…they were back in Langsford Peak when I was captured…"

"We found them while scouring the area for any survivors. Found your entire group assembled in an abandoned submarine, had no problems convincing them to leave. They were in a pretty poor state at that time."

I lay back against the pillow, resting my head on the comfortable plush.

"So…I kind of know what's going on here. But…who are you? Which…faction?"

I was trying to use terms that wouldn't sound too offensive or ignorant; my friend answered them in a straightforward way.

"We are the Secessionists—we call ourselves the Free Minecraftian Alliance, and consider ourselves the true successors to the democratic government. The name's Andre Reynolds, Warrant Officer of Firebase Omega-245. Is that clear…sort of?"

"I…think so," I muttered, facing Officer Reynolds as I lay on the bed. "You are…the Secessionists?"

"We are…don't think of us as rebels, though. We had good, clear reasons to secede, and we mean no harm to the democratic system itself—we just wish to create a more stable, functioning government. What were you told on the plane?"

I related to him my entire conversation with Silas, who was almost certainly dead at this point. Officer Reynolds was baffled, bemused, and angered by the time I finished.

"He fed you lie after lie," Reynolds hissed, shaking his head vigorously. "It was no paradise…there almost was no food, no running water, no electricity. From day one, it was madness. After the President died, and that imbecile Lithgow took charge, things went from bad to worse. Population swelled as more refugees came in, creeper attacks became common, Nameer and his followers began their attacks…it was pure chaos, and it still is."

Reynolds began an in-depth explanation of everything; he presented a far more bleak view of the situation than Lithgow had; the latter had sugar-coated almost everything.

"Nameer is dangerous, yes; he is allied with no one. He and Sellers are radicals—they impose martial law in their lands, kill anyone they please, and launch cowardly sneak attacks by night. But they aren't the real threat now. Are you good to get up and take a walk?"

I nodded my assent, and slowly rose out of bed, feeling stiff and sore. A good walk in fresh air would be helpful for me to recover.

I was led out of a barracks-style building into a relatively empty plaza; it was late afternoon, and the sun was beating down pretty heavily. Everywhere I could see there was sand; we were in a desert for certain. To the east tall, gleaming skyscrapers rose up out of the horizon; further west, snow-capped peaks were ensconced by fluffy clouds, rising high above the land that spread before them. Reynolds pointed to the large city on the furthest eastern horizon.

"That…is Terra Nova. It's the only city with electricity, running water, and ample luxuries. Every other town has either the meanest accommodations or nothing at all. It's a playground for the rich, the famous, the young and the well-connected…the 'government' stronghold."

He was sneering as he said these last words, looking out at the great city. It had to be at least twenty or so miles away, its towering steel titans just barely visible.

"They took in a lot of refugees; put them in decent housing for propaganda purposes. After we split, they made us look like a bunch of backwards country folk, sitting with our asses in the mud while the city dwellers dine on lobster and kick back at nightclubs. It only served to turn people against them."

"It's no longer a democracy anymore. Only in name…there's still a president, but it's essentially a police state dressed up to look like a stable republic. Their methods are brutal; instead of going into negotiations, they launched war against us, trying to 'bring peace and stability' to the land, under their authority…their only authority is a brutal iron fist, ready to crush any dissent."

He paused as two jets roared overhead, flying farther west; they left tiny trails behind them, slowly dissipating into the blue sky.

"We'll, I suppose that's all you should now. Let's head into the command tent—they'll fill us in on today's details."

Sighing, Reynolds turned away from the overlook and led the way back towards the center of the encampment. We were surrounded by desert, except for a small oasis close to the northern edge of the outpost; the chaparral trees were the only greenery in sight. The only other things around were deserts, distant mountains the distant capital city.

The command tent was essentially that; it was a large, square, military-camo tent that housed some radio equipment, a large topographical table map and several chairs and benches, along with basic supplies. Multiple people, ranging from army commanders to local militia captains, were gathered around the map, which encompassed most of the surrounding area. I saw Terra Nova's marker on the map; the mountains were too distant to be shown, and I now understood that they were more than a hundred miles farther west.

"This is Mr. Walker, gentlemen…you've all been briefed on him, correct?" Officer Reynolds asked. All of them nodded, and a few muttered inaudible greetings. Almost immediately, they returned to their discussion; I noticed that Dr. Caldwell and Herobrine stood among them.

"High Commander Inazawa has taken command of all Secessionist forces now. She's stationed herself up at Cardinals' Point; pretty far away…I suppose she wanted to avoid the same fate as Myers…"

One of the men in fatigues was speaking what sounded like random gibberish to me; Officer Reynolds explained that the main leader of the FMA, High Commander Eugene Myers, had been killed in a car bomb detonation and that one of his main commanders, Akira Inazawa, had taken charge.

"Well…now that the promotions are settled…we have more important business to attend to."

I hadn't heard what the other men had said, but all eyes were on me now; the important business was related to me.

"Leon Walker…from out of the blue, out of the goddamned apocalypse, you fall right into our hands…I've heard very little about you, but I know quite a bit about this pearl of yours. Dr. Caldwell here has told me quite a bit about it…"

The man at the end of the table, the one with the most bars on his uniform, was the one speaking now; everyone else was just watching. Officer Reynolds took his place beside some of the other leaders, and I was left to stand alone.

"He…has?"

"Filled us in on quite a bit, yes. Ever since our choppers brought every single survivor back, he's told us everything…including what the Loyalists want with that pearl."

Herobrine was in possession of the pearl now; he held it in his hand, turning it slowly around, his brilliant eyes fixated on the orb.

"It's an unlimited source of energy…something everyone craves, and needs desperately now more than ever. The Loyalists wanted it for that portal…that pipe dream of theirs…"

"So…the portal _is _real?" I asked, trying to slide up to the table. I squeezed in between a dirty, haggard old man and a fresh-looking, clean-shaven military sergeant.

"You doubt that it exists?" the main commander asked, now speaking directly to me.

"I…wasn't sure—"

"It exists, I will tell you that. And it will work if enough energy is supplied…but there are so many other problems with it. Lithgow was naïve; he was a fool who believed that all of this could be solved by just whisking us through a portal to Candy Land…"

There were a few dark murmurs of assent; many in this group had a mutual dislike of Lithgow, even now that he was dead. Now he spoke to the rest of the assembly.

"With Lithgow dead, Wycokrwyz is now in charge…although she believes that the portal is useful, she is a full one-eighty from that overgrown kindergartener. Wycokrwyz is ten times more intuitive, and a thousand times more ruthless…where Lithgow failed, she will succeed. I know that she will bring the hammer down, and hard…"

"She's the vice president, correct?"

"She was—with Lithgow no longer alive, she will certainly succeed him, and she has no intention to negotiate with us. Like I said, she's interested in what the portal can do, but she has not invested all of her hopes and dreams into it—which makes her far more dangerous than bumbling old Lithgow. If wiping everyone else out is the only way to stabilize the Loyalist government, she'll gladly do it."

I was still processing all of this information; with Lithgow dead, Wycokrwyz was now in charge of the Loyalists, who had been _the _democratic government until the Great Upheaval. The Secessionists were technically the "good guys"; they were willing to negotiate terms, but they would fight for their independence. And Nameer Farouq was just a murderer, nothing more.

"Total war is upon us, gentlemen…we're still awaiting orders from Commander Inazawa, but I'm going to send the last of our armor to garrison the oil fields at Irqas. We _cannot _lose those, no matter what…and we are in a state of high alert from this point out. If there's one thing we know, Wycokrwyz will act fast, and act mercilessly…especially now that she knows the energy source is close at hand. Dismissed."

The assembly stumbled out of the tent, all muttering amongst themselves. I followed the Commander out, who asked me to stay with him for a moment.

"The name's Ian Carstone—that's Commander to you, though. Disrespect is not tolerated at all around here, so get used to calling me 'Commander'," he introduced himself roughly. He sat in the bed of a transport truck and lit a cigarette, staring out at the shiny towers of Terra Nova as he spoke. I sat beside him, and Herobrine stood next to the truck, silent.

"So…you've been the talk of the entire nation for about a week now, ever since intelligence heard your name mentioned. You're almost a celebrity—because of the pearl. Good thing we brought that plane down—"

"You brought it down?"

"Well, it didn't just fall out of the damn sky," he snorted. "One of our jets hit it with two Stingers—most of the people onboard probably died, including Lithgow. You were sucked out before the fuel tanks exploded. At least you had the pearl…"

"Herobrine has the—"

"I am well aware of that. He is keeping it safe currently, away from prying eyes. It's both a blessing and a curse that you brought it here."

"How so…er…Commander?"

"We have a massive bargaining chip in our hands—I doubt it will be used like that, but if worse comes to worst, we have one. But it gives Wycokrwyz all the more reason to smash us into oblivion—we have something that she wants desperately, and she will do everything in her power to seize it."

"I'm sorry I came here—I don't want a war to start, just because of the pearl—"

"We were already in pretty deep shit before you arrived. It won't make too much difference."

He paused, smoking idly. Two jets roared overhead again, in the opposite direction; they were probably the ones that went over earlier.

"How is the war doing so far?"

"It's been a standoff for quite a while now," Commander Carstone explained. "With Lithgow in charge, nothing really happened; there were skirmishes, and Nameer's forces raised holy hell, but he was too indecisive to do_ anything_. Like I said, Wycokrwyz will use her entire arsenal to obtain that pearl—and I expect combat to start getting heavy soon."

"Her entire arsenal?"

"As far as we know, it's pretty powerful. We have gear, we have leaders, we have armor—but she has more at her disposal. It's a mixture of peasants armed with old assault rifles and military units with the most modern gear. Rusty pickup trucks and brand-new tanks…worn, scarred biplanes and top-of-the-line fighter jets…it's a mixture, but pretty unbalanced. The old and worn outnumber the new and fresh, but the same goes for us. So it really just comes down to luck and morale in combat. They do tend to have an edge, usually…because they airdrop creepers…"

He tossed the smoking cigarette down into the sands and squashed it with his boot. He stood up, stretching, as several vehicles rumbled out of the base, down a dune and towards the mountains.

"Tomorrow, the gloves come off. Seeing as we're one of the outposts closest to Terra Nova, they'll hit pretty hard here. I'm taking you to Cardinals' Point tonight, where you and the pearl will be safer. We'll be leaving here in about three hours with your people, so take care of your business before we head off. It's a long trip."

He began to leave, but I stopped him for one last question.

"What's the Withering?"

Commander Carstone stopped dead in his tracks; he turned around slowly, as if he hadn't heard the question correctly.

"What…did you ask?"

"What's the Withering? I…uh…heard some Black Ops back in Langsford Peak talking about it…and something called a 'rasper', too…"

Carstone did not answer; he shook his head violently.

"Commander Inazawa will answer that for you…I do not wish to speak about those horrors. I've seen enough down south…I'd rather not relive any of it…"

And he stalked off once more, refusing to say another word on the subject. I figured it would be pertinent to drop it, and bring the topic up once I was in a safer location. I instead turned to Herobrine, who was tapping his foot idly, his white eyes staring out into blue space.

"Where's Celine?"

"The oasis, alone. She wanted some quiet time, but I don't think she'll mind your presence," he said dryly, not even bothering to turn to me.

The oasis was the only green spot in sight; it was close to the base, less than five hundred feet away, but far enough to provide some privacy. I found her relaxing in the azure body of water, completely naked but hidden beneath the shimmering surface. As the two jets roared overhead again, I slipped into the shallow waters, not even bothering to undress.

"I'm sorry if I disturbed you—"

"Leon, I've been waiting all day for you to wake up," she said softly; as she turned to me, I noticed that she had been crying. Her eyes were red and slightly puffy, and her cheeks were stained. "It's about time you did."

I wrapped my arms around her waist and pulled her in close; we embraced and kissed quietly, without anyone to disturb us. After being knocked unconscious twice, and being tossed out of a burning airplane, a moment of nothing but silence was what I needed most. Her warm lips were more comforting than anything else in the world, pressed gently against mine. We broke off after several seconds, and she laid her head back on the sands surrounding the oasis, her body still submerged in the warm water.

"I should've undressed…"

"You'll dry out quickly. It's the one thing this desert is good for," she mused, closing her eyes. I lay back against the sand as well; it was remarkably soft, less grainy than normal sand.

"I didn't think you would get out of there alive, I thought they had you," she said.

"They came pretty damn close," I reflected dryly, still surprised that they didn't just kill me and seize the pearl. "I was at their mercy."

"Herobrine came back once we reached the Capricorn again…said he had the pearl, and said that they had you…I was devastated, utterly devastated…"

She began to choke up again; it took her a moment to stop, and she wiped her eyes before blushing in embarrassment.

"I'm sorry…it's embarrassing, to think I cried…"

"Did you?"

"For…quite a long time, yes," she admitted, blushing even redder. "I don't remember when I stopped…I think it was when we got here, from the Secessionist plane that took us from Langsford Peak…I was imagining the most terrible things…"

She stopped, midsentence, unable to go on any further.

"But…that doesn't matter anymore, right? I'm here, we're safe…"

"Not yet…we just came to another dangerous place, that's all…"

"Don't look at it like that," I admonished her gently. "We're not alone in this fight now—we have more allies, more people who are willing to help us…as long as we have friends, we are safe. This will all be over soon…"

"Small comfort," she chuckled. "But…at least you're alive."

She rose up out of the water and lay on top of me, reaching her arms up around my head. It felt a bit awkward to have her on me, without any clothes on; but I wrapped my arms around her soft hips again, and truly relaxed for the first time in weeks.

"I do wish I had brought a bathing suit, though…"

We both laughed, holding each other without a care in the world. She pressed her face to my chest, and, locked in an unbreakable embrace, we rested in the shallows of the oasis, and tuned out the entire world around us.

xXXXXXXXXXXXXXx

He was out of ammo in his most desperate moment. He cursed everything that he ever knew, and threw the rifle down, drawing his measly handgun out.

The scene in the quaint southern village was like that of a man's worst nightmare; flames consumed some of the modular homes and the cars, and the figures were everywhere, running, jumping, killing anything that moved. And they weren't the worst part…

"Raspers coming down Main St, put them down!"

"Fuck, they're all over—can't get a bead, FUCK!"

"We've got a breach, pull back to West Pine, we're breached!"

The trees had died or were in the process of dying; the grass was shriveled and brown, and the flowers had collapsed into the earth, their petals lying despondently on the dried ground. It was all Withered; they had too much power here, there was nothing to be done…

One of the Withered people leapt up in front of him, its skin grotesquely decayed and lacerated, its facial features mangled by the dark magic that twisted the human it had once been. Even though it was powered by the darkest kind of magic known to man, it still fell to lead; he popped three rounds in its head, sending it backwards over the car it had leapt up onto.

"Pull back, pull back! It's too hot here, call in Hell's Bells and let's reestablish a perimeter!"

He shouted orders, but in vain; his troops, a mixture of militia, townspeople and military, were falling apart.

The Withers had come out of nowhere; first there was one, then there were more, dozens of the three-headed monstrosities that destroyed every living thing in their path. They killed plants, killed animals, and turned people into walking reanimates that ran and jumped with superhuman speed and power, and killed whatever they could find. They were raspers; they gurgled, rasped and shrieked like some form of primitive communication, and their skin was horribly Withered, to the point where some of them were just animated skeletons.

As he tried to contain his fleeing units, he felt that searing cold; it was not a rasper that created that feeling. He had felt it once before, and had narrowly escaped it…but this time would be different…

He tried to turn around, but fell over a body, and fell to the ground, knocking the wind out of him. He struggled to fight back, but his weapon was out of his reach…he was defenseless, helpless…

Those three heads, those six malevolent eyes were almost curious, as if they were studying their next victim with interest. It floated above the ground, a skeletal body with three heads on top of it; each of them fired deadly explosive projectiles that would spread the Withering, and each of them consumed whatever life they deemed necessary.

_What it consumes, makes it stronger…they will never die off, they will always grow stronger…_

He knew that his life was at an end. There was no point in pleading with the thing; it would not spare his life, or let him go free. But he found himself begging anyway.

"Please…don't kill me…"

It stared at him some more, as if considering his plea.

"Please…don't…"

It opened its mouths, its eyes fixated on him.

"Please…"

It was over within a second; the Wither descended on its prey, and in that single second the captain's life had become one with the Wither's. And it grew stronger off of this; the ones who weren't raspers were simply consumables, fuel to feed the raging fire within the Wither.

And it carried on, moving towards the prey that it sensed. Most of them would become raspers; but there was plenty of fuel out there, and the Wither was becoming hungry once more…


	36. Hammerfall

**Welcome to war, greenhorns. The conflict has begun.**

**We're now about two-thirds of the way to the end of **_**Gone**_**, I estimate; I don't know how many chapters remaining, but it will be a while now before it ends. So, I will answer reviews right now (this A/N section will be quite brief).**

**PigeonFligher: Well…maybe the Withers are the end? They are pretty terrible to fight…dramatic music is very appropriate for this point in time. And yes, Leon and Celine do make quite a cute couple. Very sweet and innocent :3**

**HPE24: Yes, references everywhere. Yours is the easiest to reference, due to the fact that it can definitely happen in the distant past (the Users are mythical now :3)**

**And I'm glad that you like Leon and Celine; you aren't the only one, but you certainly seem to appreciate them. I'll openly admit that I'm bad at writing romance/relationship scenes, so it's really the best I can put out. Romance writing really beats me D:**

**TerrarianCreeper: These two chapters were kind of slow-down times; the next few will be a bit faster, but not all action. **

**And yes, many, **_**many **_**Withers. They are necessary, since they are mortal and can be killed, although with difficulty. They're pretty uncommon compared to the raspers. **

**And yes, Herobrine did snatch the pearl, back in Riverside. He planned ahead well :3**

**Blakeyboy: Capricorn people are all in the new land now. Except for the dead ones…**

**TerrarianCreeper (again): It's probably good that you corrected that, but Darius can be flexible. I will keep him with his revolver, simply because it's pretty badass.**

**Woohooman14: There may be similarities, but I've never read any Zelda fanfics. I can check it out, but any similarities between them and the raspers here are entirely accidental.**

**So welcome back :D**

xXXXXXXXXXXXx

_Everyone _from the Capricorn had made it out West; according to Celine, a helicopter from the Secessionists was searching for survivors in Langsford Peak and had located them, and proceeded to spirit them out of the wasted city.

We drove northwest on a stretch of highway made for commuting traffic. It was obvious that the government had planned all of this long before the catastrophe that Notch created; they believed that people would simply adapt to their new land, without any problems whatsoever. They were completely wrong; there was not a single car on the freeway, and even more disturbing was the lack of vehicle ruins. We were in a wasteland; all of this money had gone to waste…

"Cardinals' Point is the only truly prosperous city. We grow our own food, have power from a hydroelectric dam, and have a burgeoning industrial sector to boot. Terra Nova might have all that, but it lacks security," Commander Carstone explained as we drove. There were two trucks, a jeep and an APC leading the way down the deserted roadside; it would take us nearly another hour and a half to reach the cool pine forests of the north, far away from the warzone.

"They have security forces, don't they? I mean…without some sort of police force—"

"They have a police force, of course," Carstone answered from the front seat. "But it's inadequate—most recruits are shipped off to the primary military if they're good enough. The cops aren't trained to detect bombs or hidden weapons, and that's their main shortcoming. They're woefully unprepared against terror attacks."

I knew about Farouq Nameer and Aaron Sellers; some of the soldiers said that they occupied the far southeastern coastal area, using it as a base to launch sneak attacks against both Loyalists and Secessionists.

"Cities this far north usually are pretty secure. There's creepers, yes, but creepers are a delight to face compared to terrorists and elite soldiers. Farther south, like back at Omega-245, attacks happen almost every day. Small-scale, but I expect the hammer to come down hard starting today."

A squadron of jets roared overhead in the direction that we were driving. They were fighters, not bombers; I expected they had been scrambled to attack enemy aircraft.

"Lost three planes already today…took down an entire squadron of Wycokrwyz's bombers, but she has more than us. Losses we can't afford."

We rumbled on, the sand dunes turning into hard rock flats and the hard rock flats becoming rolling plains with sparse stands of trees. The biomes were changing as we went; it grew cooler, and the air was easier to breathe without all the sand and dust polluting it.

I had fallen asleep by the time we finally reached our destination; we were deep within a taiga forest, not far north enough to be in snowy lands, but far enough to require light jackets even during the afternoon.

The city was built on a flat area and up into a mountain, one of the tall peaks that formed the western edge of this land. It couldn't hold more than 100,000 people, at most; there was a small downtown area with a couple of small high-rises, but otherwise it looked like a calm suburban neighborhood sprawled out across the chilly tundra, surrounded by tall pines and small hillocks. We were led to a small airbase on the edge of town, which apparently doubled as a military base for deployment of troops and vehicles.

"Commander Inazawa stays down in the lower levels of the bunker," Carstone said as the vehicle came to a halt in one of the base's garage and the driver powered the engine down. "We'll be going deep—they built a nice network of tunnels and bunkers underneath Cardinals' Point…to serve as a secondary command center, maybe…"

We were led by several guards into a large cargo elevator. As soon as the exterior doors closed, we began our dark descent.

"Is everyone else here already?" I asked Carstone.

"Everyone?"

"From the Capricorn, I mean…"

"Oh…er, yes, we already moved them…preemptively, your other two friends stayed at Omega-245 of their own accord…"

The elevator doors rolled open, admitting us into a dark concrete hallway. Everything was made to be blast-proof; doors were solid steel, the roof, walls and floor were all poured concrete. There were checkpoints everywhere, and security cameras mounted at every single corner. It certainly felt like a military base—even though it was originally designed as a commercial airport.

"The government's been building all of this—for a hundred years?"

I was amazed at how much money they had spent on a hypothetical event; it would be like drilling deep into the earth and living down there just in case an asteroid _might possibly _strike the planet.

Celine, Rina, Miguel, Dr. Caldwell, Lance, Darius, Mouse and Captain Barcelona had escaped alive and were currently with us. We had only half of our original number left; the Brotherhood attack and the Black Ops combat had cost us too much blood.

"More or less, yes. They started on Terra Nova, but expanded it as the population grew. It's an insane idea—"

"It's completely mental—"

"But it turned out well—very useful," Carstone finished, ignoring Mouse's offhand comment.

"Well, the probability of something like this happening is _incredibly _rare—"

"And yet, here we are, safe and sound in this subterranean bunker. Built by taxpayer money—something you probably wince at."

I had paid a lot of taxes before the apocalypse; it was kind of frustrating to know that a huge chunk of them went to a project that was, at most, Plan Z, a final plan in case all else failed.

We continued on into the complex, through a winding labyrinth of hallways and corridors, each with their own labels and signs. There were so many doors, too…some of them large, admitting access to other portions of the base, and some of them leading to small janitor's closets.

"How deep are we going?" I asked after more than ten minutes of walking.

"Deeper still. If you think this is a dinky little forward outpost, you're wrong—it's massive. We're going further down."

He led us to yet another cargo elevator, which descended at least a hundred feet. It was another five minutes of walking before we reached the main command center, buried deep beneath the safe haven of Cardinals' Point.

It was a large circular room, with a digital map of the entire landscape on a 10 foot by 4 foot table. It was pretty cliché that chairs surrounded it; it was like the President's emergency conference bunker, only a bit smaller than I had imagined. I had already spotted Inazawa; she stood out, her short hair jet black and her stature incredibly intimidating for a woman slightly more than five feet tall. I knew that she would be more than a match for Wycokrwyz.

"You're late, Carstone," she snapped as we entered.

"My apologies—"

"Don't apologize. Sit."

Carstone searched for some words, but he found none that would fit the situation; he sputtered a while, conceded the argument, and flopped down into the nearest chair.

"So…you are Leon Walker?"

"I—yes—"

"I have heard much about you. What is true, that is yet to be decided—however, I know for a fact that you possess a certain object that is called an 'ender pearl'…do you have it?"

As if on cue, Herobrine, who was following behind the entire group along with the Enderman, withdrew the pearl and held it aloft for all to see. Although Inazawa was interested, she was unimpressed.

"Interesting…it doesn't seem to be an object of great value…"

"Apparently it is, though—"

"I am very well aware of what events have transpired over this object," she snapped at me, silencing me instantly. "I know that you and your friends have suffered at the hands of the Loyalists…there are so many of you here, but I sense that you have lost many more…"

She returned the pearl to Herobrine; apparently, he seemed trustworthy enough to be the bearer of the Ender pearl.

"Well…I assume that you're filled in on current events, Mr. Walker?"

"Yes…ma'am," I sputtered, remembering to address her by her proper title. Carstone and the two other commanders were silent, as was the secretary sitting beside Commander Inazawa.

"Very good. So we can get straight to the root of the problems we are facing today."

She pushed some buttons and brought the map on the table up onto the nearest wall as a digital projection. Some more button-pushing and tapping on the screen occurred, and it zoomed into an area close to Terra Nova.

"Already, with Lithgow's death, Wycokrwyz has started her offensive. Battalions of tanks have crossed the Mellifluous Dunes and smashed our furthest outposts—"

"Mellifluous Dunes? Are they…er…mellifluous?"

Lance, who had been mostly silent, had dared to speak up. His question would have been valid, if it had not sounded kind of stupid. Surprisingly, Commander Inazawa smiled, the first time I had seen her do so.

"Well…in a way. We named them that because the sands are always shifting—the winds carry them, creating new dunes and changing the landscape every day. In a way, they are fluid—_mellifluous_…"

There were multiple markings on the map—lines, arrows, and squares, all with small lettering beside them.

"That's not important, however. What _is _important is this offensive—tanks have already rolled across the Dunes and into our forward bases. We don't know how well they've held up…"

"I outfitted most of the outposts with anti-armor weaponry. Anything Wycokrwyz sends, we'll be able to punch holes into it," Carstone spoke up. Instead of rebuking him for interrupting, Inazawa seemed pleased; I expected her to lash out at her commander.

"A pertinent move—something I should have ordered. Hopefully, it will be enough…"

"They could send a giant metal box at us, and we'd still have something that would break that armor," Carstone said haughtily.

Inazawa ignored this blatant show of hubris and continued with her presentation, zooming out once more. The arrows were moving; there were several of them arcing out of Terra Nova, towards small points on the map.

"Hopefully, our bases have held against whatever Wycokrwyz has thrown at them. We're sure that she hit hard and fast—something Lithgow was unable to do. If they've held, casualties will be high."

She zoomed out again, even further, and this time moved the focus of the map south. She zoomed in on a small town, nothing more than a miniscule blotch on the main map.

"Now…this is our main concern. Even if Wycokrwyz unleashes holy hell upon us…here is where we must focus our efforts."

Carstone seemed to have understood, but one of the other commanders spoke up, and he wasn't too pleased.

"Again…again here? We cannot keep diverting soldiers here, we've already lost thousands of fighters trying to hold that blasted town…I know it's important, but if we leave only skeleton crews in our desert outposts, our entire center will collapse, along with our lines of communication and—"

"The desert bases _will _hold, Commander Lannister," Inazawa hissed, glaring icily at the other general. He had been silenced now; his wavering gaze was fixed on Inazawa, and I could detect fear in his eyes from where I sat. "I know that you are concerned about them—but trust me, they are good men. They will hold."

"Of course, ma'am…"

"Now…if you will excuse me…I must introduce this critical town to our guests."

She pointed to the tiny blotch on the map and zoomed in further. The description said that it was home to no more than 2,000 people; by the large amount of markings, movement arrows, and casualty reports, I assumed that it was now a ghost town, and the center of a large battle.

"Jones County…the tiny township of Adelina, home to little more than 2,000 people. They've all moved out now, because of the fighting…but it's one hell of a hot point. Nameer has moved hundreds of fighters and gun emplacements in, Loyalist armor and infantry battalions control the eastern side, and we've got dozens of platoons dug into the far northwestern part of town. All because of what is at the center…"

She pointed to the large building at the center of Adelina; it was shaped like a pyramid, with two towers at the entrance and a smaller tower at the top center.

"A temple…an ancient structure…"

"What do you mean…ancient?"

It was Caldwell who spoke up this time.

"What do I mean? Ancient? It was…there when we first got here. The government had built the town around it for some reason. They just sort of ignored it—planted oak trees around the structure to hide it from sight. But we know that there's something important in there—well, we guess…"

"You guess? What's your proof? Maybe it's just some useless old relic—"

"It's about the Withers…those things in the south. You were briefed on them, correct?" Inazawa asked Caldwell, who politely nodded.

"They…seem to be attracted to it. We've observed both the Withers and the raspers…they'll fight anything living, destroy it, as you well know. But when they get near that temple…they simply become passive. It's as if they went into some sort of coma and they just wander around aimlessly…they don't even respond to being attacked, they just wander. And if they wander away from the temple, they become aggressive once more. Sound important enough to you, Doctor?"

"Sounds like something I don't wish to get involved with…"

"If the High Commander thinks that it's worth hundreds of soldiers, then it probably is. She's definitely on to something—if there's anything in there, it might be the key to stopping these…Withers…"

Commander Carstone seemed rather uneasy while saying the name; it reminded me of something I had heard while bumming in Coastal City, a good word of advice.

_Fear of a name only increases fear of that thing…don't be afraid to say the name, it will only make that thing more terrifying…_

"The Loyalists will bring the hammer down hard. But they must sense there's something important about Adelina—else they wouldn't be stationing so many troops there. If the war shifts anywhere, it will be there…"

She returned the map to its resting place in the center of the table with a simple flick of her hand. It disappeared from the wall almost instantly.

"This is all settled then. Commander Carstone, I want you to return to Omega-245. The largest garrison rests there…see to the reinforcement of other outposts as necessary, and make sure that as many as possible hold. Commander Lannister, I'm deploying you and your units to the Dunes—use your armor wisely, try to take the Loyalist tank brigades by surprise and do some damage…"

The other commanders saluted, and were dismissed. There was a general exodus from the room; everyone except Celine, Lance, Miguel and myself were allowed to go. Commander Inazawa was not done with us yet, however.

"You four. I wanted you to stay afterwards because I have an assignment for you. And just you four."

She waited until everyone else was down the hall and out of earshot before closing the door.

"What—"

"I wish to ask all of you something—I have been told that you all have certain combat skills that make you most useful. I have heard about your actions back in Langsford Peak—nothing short of impressive, I might say."

"And how is this relevant—"

I saw what she was doing almost immediately; she was sending us south, separating us from the rest of the group…trying to test our mettle, see how we performed in combat…

"You…you're deploying us, aren't you?"

"Well, yes…all four of you in the same unit—"

"There's no damn way we're doing that," I grit my teeth. "We just left hell behind us…none of us want to go back. We want to rest, we want a reprieve, a requiem if you must call it that—"

"If we don't hold this town, there might be no reprieve at all," Inazawa hissed, her tone nothing short of extremely irritated. "Now I realize what you've been through—all of you have suffered greatly at the hands of the Loyalists. If events had taken a different turn, you would be here to relax—"

"But instead, you're using us as pawns? Is that correct?"

It had never occurred to me that I was being exceptionally disrespectful to the woman who was now in command of me; I was trying to give my followers a breather, some time for them to nurse their wounds and overcome the grief of losing close friends. Inazawa didn't snap, or unleash her fury at me; she stayed calm, trying to show me her side of the story, as unprejudiced as possible.

"Well…that is one way that we are using you. I'll be honest—many of our civilians and even some of our trained soldiers see you as a messiah. You're a gift from Notch, a man sent from heaven to turn the war around. You have no idea how much people look up to you, Leon Walker…"

"I think I—"

"No, you don't," Inazawa hissed again, baring her shining white teeth. "You have no idea what you mean to them…they lost their homes, their families, everything they've treasured, and their own government is trying to destroy them piecemeal. You come with something that contains great power—it has the power to build, and at the same time destroy. We can build ourselves back to our former glory, and destroy our enemies with the pearl…"

"It's a weapon that no man can harness, it's far too powerful—"

"Even if we _can't _harness it—I see what you mean, so much power that one cannot control it—even if we cannot use it, it still is a powerful object in our hands. Something like that gives hope to our people—you've brought that hope over, and you've become a near legend amongst many. Tales of your combat prowess have spread…many of them are exaggerated, of course."

"So…you _are _using me as propaganda?"

I was now aware that I was being rather pointed and rude; but Inazawa persevered, and I had a feeling that she would be less accepting of disrespect from her actual captains.

"We are. If people saw you out on the battlefield—fighting off Loyalist forces, leading our boys into combat—it would bring morale way up. You _inspire_ so many…you've killed dozens of their elite soldiers, brought an ancient relic into our hands, and refused to side with the Loyalists. You're as close as one can be to a hero—if you go out there, and people know you're fighting on our side, it will make the difference between victory and defeat."

That was one hell of a way to put it; I felt that _she_ was exaggerating, but she had a valid point. If I was that inspirational, it would certainly make a difference in morale, and provide a hearty boost to it.

"There is no yes or no—I'm giving you an order, Mr. Walker. But I want you to know _why_."

"Yes…ma'am."

"I know that you and your friends have suffered greatly…but believe me, if we don't strike now, there will be no later…"

xXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXx

Those words haunted me the rest of the day and into the night; the news that I received the next time I talked to Carstone and Inazawa was gut-wrenching.

Out of the ten outposts circling Terra Nova and the Dunes, six of them had fallen to Loyalist armor columns, and the other four were besieged. Other Loyalist armor columns had severed several supply and communications lines, and information coming in was slow. We had no idea if any other outposts had fallen or not; as night fell, I became even more nervous about being deployed tomorrow.

_I'm a propaganda tool…nothing more than that…_

_You heard what she said. It will be a great morale boost…they look up to you, the soldiers admire you…_

_I'm a pawn, and nothing more. They only care about the pearl…just care about that goddamn pearl…_

When I woke up in the morning, Celine was in bed with me; she must've slipped in after I had fallen asleep. We were supposed to depart at around 5 AM; I had woken up an hour early, most likely due to anxiety.

"Trouble sleeping?"

To my surprise, Celine was wide awake; she turned over to me, her brilliant blond hair disheveled and her bright eyes gleaming in the light of the alarm clock.

"Sort of…I'm just nervous…same with you?"

"I couldn't sleep too well…Rina's really upset because Miguel's leaving again, Dr. Caldwell has insisted on taking Mouse and himself with us…I got maybe two hours in?"

"You look just fine," I grumbled, pulling her closer.

"I won't later," she giggled, wrapping her arms around me. "Not enough sleep…I'll be paying the price later, I guess."

She didn't seem too unhappy about it; rather optimistic, considering we were departing for a warzone in an hour.

"I haven't heard from Notch lately…"

I hadn't mentioned the voice in my head for a while now; since Herobrine was present, and had confirmed the existence of our Creator, I was no longer "crazy", per se; but I avoided any mention of my contact with him.

"You…haven't been speaking to him, you mean?" Celine asked, rising out of bed. Tiny beams of sunlight were peering through the window pane that overlooked our bed; we had been allowed to stay in one of the administrative suites in the bunker before our deployment.

"Well, he hasn't been speaking to me. I can't send messages to him, I don't know how…but I haven't been receiving anything lately. Odd."

I rose out of bed as well; we needed to be ready before five, and we had less than fifty minutes left. I wanted to be early, just in case.

"Well, there must be a reason. Right now, we have more important things that demand our attention," Celine said as she strolled into the bathroom. "I call shower first."

I didn't contest her call; she shut the bathroom door firmly behind her just as Herobrine and the Ender father walked in, followed by Commander Carstone.

"I'm sorry to wake you at this hour, Leon—"

"He would've been up, anyway. He'll deploy in an hour," Carstone spoke roughly, tossing me two sets of military fatigues.

"Are these—"

"You'll be wearing them, yes. They've got special insignias so you can part yourselves from the infantry pukes…you won't want to be with those bastards, they're a rough bunch. I'm deploying down to Adelina anyway, so you'll be under my command."

"And we're…captains, correct?"

"No, you're not," Carstone gently corrected. "You've been branded 'special operations'…not like black ops. You're there for morale purposes mostly…Inazawa gave you the talk, didn't she?"

"Unfortunately," I muttered.

"Well, that's the main reason. But she also wants you there for your fighting skills—that's why she deployed your other friends along with you. She thinks you'll make a good cohesive unit, and you will have some kind of commanding powers once you're established with your regiment."

I checked out the uniforms; they both wore special insignias on them, denoting us as the rank of "Warrant Officer".

"Consider yourselves lucky. Inazawa rarely gives out promotions—you got them completely free. I'll see you on the tarmac, Officer."

He left the room, leaving Herobrine and the Ender father behind.

"How have you two been getting along? With the base personnel, I mean—"

"They seem to accept us for who we are. It's not friendly, but they're not outright hostile," the Ender father answered matter-of-factly. Herobrine, who still possessed the pearl, seemed concerned, and was very fidgety.

"We're coming with you, Leon—"

"Hero? Is there something wrong?" I asked him in the middle of his sentence. He stuttered briefly.

"Well…it's my brother—"

"You can't get ahold of him, can you?"

"Er—how did you know?" Herobrine asked, his white eyes blazing curiously. He twiddled his fingers idly while he stood there, sword sheathed at his hip.

"He hasn't spoken to me, either…remember, we share communications with him."

"Yeah, I had forgotten that you can hear him too…it's really disturbing, to have communication with him for hundreds of years and just to lose it in the blink of an eye," Herobrine commented dryly, snapping his fingers for effect.

"Maybe he hasn't found us yet…does he need to know where we are?"

"No, no…it's his world; he could find us within seconds and contact us. I'm afraid that it's something else, something that he did not make…"

Herobrine wandered back outside, muttering incoherently to himself. Before the Enderman left, he reminded me that he and Hero were accompanying us to Adelina.

"It gives us something to do, and Herobrine will be able to watch over you there. He requested to escort you himself, and Inazawa gave him the thumbs up."

The Ender father waved goodbye before leaving the room; although he was still mournful over the loss of what little family he had left, his mood had improved since we left Langsford Peak. He was more positive now, and slightly less murderous.

They left with perfect timing; the bathroom door opened just slightly, and a rather flustered Celine poked her face out, blushing furiously.

"I…uh…didn't have any clothes…and I didn't get my…er…uniform…"

Her words failed her, and I handed her the military fatigues that belonged to her. She sheepishly accepted the set, taking them in both hands while staying behind the door as much as possible.

"Thanks…er…yeah…"

She shut the door with a heavy slam, and I couldn't help but laughing. These might have been the final moments we would spend together; no matter how awkward they were, I enjoyed them as much as possible. We had half an hour before we deployed; I prayed that we would come out of Adelina alive, and that we could find what the hell was inside of that temple…


	37. A Thin Green Line

**Hello again, everyone! Regular readers, new readers, those who haven't reviewed in a long time—welcome back!**

**This chapter is stuffed full of references to The Miner's Destiny—and they're not really subtle. They're pretty much up front and in your face—so FMF, if you read this, enjoy all the random references to TMD. You know how much I love it :3**

**So, if you haven't read a oneshot by the name of "Wither King" by our own beloved Mellifluousness, go read it. NOW. NOW -_-**

**It's quite amazing. Our friend's detail is spectacular, and the story is nothing short of…terrifying. Not the most terrifying thing ever (Amnesia: TDD anyone?), but it will certainly give you chills. And, of course, it's written by Flu. Did I already mention that's the number one reason to read it?**

**Alright, enough about shout-outs and community love. Here's your answers, as always.**

**HPE24: Does this remind you of the Ministry using Harry Potter as propaganda in the sixth book? I just kind of thought of that…it wasn't really my inspiration, but re-reading the Half-Blood Prince gave me that thought. The Ministry tries to use him as propaganda to fool people into thinking they're winning…**

**Oh, and I want to say it now, that I can't thank you enough for contributing so much time and effort into a cover for me. The day that it is made will be a very happy one, indeed, and I cannot thank you enough for sacrificing your own time for me. **

**Razz64: Indeed. This is for Chapter 1, but I felt like answering it anyway :3**

**TerrarianCreeper: Yeah, the temple's important. If you haven't read "Wither King" yet, go read it—it's one reason why you **_**really **_**want something to keep those Withers chillin'.**

**I am guessing that you play TF2? Since you mentioned the Diamondback—something I never use, since I don't use revolvers at all really as spy—I figured you did. But yeah, I believe they based it off of the Anaconda, with its own unique perks.**

**I have been reading HP, but I'm unclear as to what you're referring to. I'm probably just missing it.**

**Dagsar12: Adorable awkward ending. I liked it :3**

**PigeonFligher: Yes, the end draws closer, quite unfortunately. War does not favor the Secessionists, but they'll make it through. Not without some bloodshed, though.**

**And yeah, I was hoping that ending part was equal parts awkward and cute. It was one of those things that was hard to nail—awkwardly adorable, you could say. I'm still not sure if it flew or if it fell flat.**

xXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXx

"Alright, suit up and ready up for deployment in one!"

We were soldiers; it was difficult for me to grasp the concept that I was in a real army now, assigned to a platoon that resembled a mixed bag of jellybeans. Some of them were farmers and country bums armed with hunting shotguns and old black powder muskets. Others were hardcore elite marines trained to fight in any combat situation, armed with the most advanced assault rifles and light machine guns. It _was _pretty much a bag of jellybeans; I could even equate a few of the men to licorice-flavored beans.

"Ready to drop in thirty seconds, get your gear!"

The pilot called through the intercom often, giving us updates on our arrival time as well as conditions at our landing zone. Right now, it was pretty quiet; however, according to some of the more hardened veterans, conditions in Adelina tended to change _really _fast.

"Well, this must be a first for both of us, eh?"

Commander Carstone, dressed in his finest command outfit, was sitting across from us on the other bench inside the helicopter, squashed between two burly men in homemade battle armor.

"In…command?"

"Of forces in Adelina. I've been in command many times before, but this is the first time I've visited this happy little burg. It'll be interesting to see how warfare plays out here—"

"What do you mean, 'plays out'?" Miguel asked. He had been outfitted with all new gear, given the task of provided heavy fire with an LMG.

"Combat in Adelina is different from combat anywhere else," Carstone spoke as the bird hovered over a landing zone, and crew members threw rappelling ropes down. "It's intense for short periods of time, ground is gained and lost in minutes, and when the Withers come it's a chaotic scramble to hunker down and secure your territory. It's the Withers that make it different—they affect the battlefield more than anything else…"

Carstone rose up, smacking his head on the metal beam above him. Cursing, he scrambled with his gear towards one of the ropes, and rappelled gracefully down. One by one, everyone followed him out, taking their own rope and sliding down to the tarmac below. All four of us proceeded down one after the other, assembling on the helipad.

Adelina was a peculiar town, different from most communities that dotted the old lands. Every single housing unit was made out of adobe brick, sunbaked mud that had hardened into a material almost as strong as rock. It appeared that, despite their old-timey dwelling architecture, they were outfitted with modern implements, including insulation, wiring, plumbing and gas—a peculiar layout, indeed. At the center of the town, where every single pavement street came together, was a large plaza that seemed to house only trees, tall oaks that didn't fit in with the desert environment.

"That's it, ladies. Adelina Central, the temple within the trees…you can only see the tower poking out from it…"

Carstone was right; only one tiny turret peeked out from the foliage, and it rose above every other building in Adelina. Whoever held that post would be able to see the entire village, and see everyone's movements…

"Hold that tower, and you hold Adelina," Carstone muttered as the troops dispersed, all except for us. We were told to await his orders before running out to take charge of our platoon.

"Our orders, sir?"

"What—ah, yes. I'm sorry about that," Carstone sputtered as gunfire rippled through the relatively silent air. The helicopter pulled away and rose up high, leaving us alone in the middle of a makeshift base. "You'll definitely need to acquaint yourself with a map of the area. Come have a look."

He led us to the main command center, which was like the tent at Omega-245 only larger and more permanent. Like most command posts belonging to the Secession, this one had a massive, detailed topographical map at the center, with several lesser captains and officers surrounding it, making marks and talking amongst themselves.

"The entire town is relatively small, but fighting usually concerns tiny areas, sometimes smaller than a block. I can't tell you how much blood has tainted this land."

He pointed to a small area of housing and a bank, on the corner of 38th and Lockhart streets. It was less than a block from the temple area, and on the Wither side of town.

"Ninety or so men all dug into these dwellings. It's one of our more dangerous sectors, since it's on the southern side of town, the one closest to the Withers…but, uh, we can't put you anywhere else. Inazawa definitely wanted to challenge you…"

"Challenge us? This is like walking us to our deaths," Miguel spat angrily.

"It's a position we need to hold—closest one to the temple we've got, that bank makes an excellent defensive position as well. It's _vital_."

Carstone made his point as clear as he could; Miguel was still not convinced.

"It's not like we'd lose the town if we lost that damn bank…"

"No, but it might cause us to lose more sectors, and that will lead us to lose Adelina," Carstone argued impatiently. "Look, it's your orders—you have to follow them, come hell or high water. Is that clear?"

"Not at—"

"Perfectly clear, sir," I spoke loudly, avoiding a fight between Carstone and Miguel. The matter was settled, at least publicly; Miguel didn't push the argument any further, and Celine and Lance were both quiet.

"Good. Head off to your posts, and take command of your troops. They're waiting."

Our reception was mixed; some of the men cheered our arrival, and others were silent, sitting in their foxholes and pillboxes, watching the four of us darkly. We were their replacements; some hailed us as messiahs come to end the bloodshed, and yet others believed that I was "incapable of leading in such a chaotic situation". There was no open mutiny; the punishment would be too terrible for that. However, I knew that some of the men were speaking behind my back.

"They'll follow your orders. They don't have to like you, though," Lance said when I mentioned it to him. He was the only one of us with any type of leadership skills; his previous training had given him some instruction on leadership.

"I'd rather they do…"

"Well, if you can't make them accept you, don't try. We won't be here for too long, I reckon—if victory is quick—"

"I can't see victory being quick, Lance," I warned him. I was busy setting up my temporary quarters; devoid of any luxuries, it was easy setting up a couple chests, my toiletries, and throwing blankets on the bed. Lance and Miguel would be sharing quarters with the regular soldiers; Celine and I would be sleeping together in our own commandant's room.

"I'm being optimistic, I know. But it's better than being pessimistic," he shrugged, unloading his assault rifle idly.

"I don't know why they had to put us all the way out here," I grumbled, looking out of the window of the residential home. All I could see was the other side of the street, the other houses; but inside of the windows, I could see the raspers wandering idly, pacified by whatever the hell lay within that temple.

"The only command spot, Carstone said—"

"And the most difficult to deal with. Unhappy soldiers, Withers, the temple…I hope we get some backup if we get into a bad spot."

"It's an important zone for them. If we get into a tight spot, we can rely on backup to dig us out," Lance reassured me. "I have to keep watch tonight, so rest easy."

"Look alive out there," I called back to him as he left, admitting Celine into the house.

"You sound tired, Leon," she spoke softly as she shut the door behind Lance. Somewhere outside, jets roared overhead, coming up from the south.

"Long day…just a long day, that's all," I groaned, lying back in bed. I had decided that hygiene was second to rest tonight, and that I could shower down in the early morning. We didn't have hot water here; it would be a rough wake-up call to wash under a wave of freezing liquid.

"They'll be longer, baby. We're in the fight now…"

"Thanks for reassuring me," I sneered sarcastically, pulling the rough blanket up and over us as she slipped in with me, having showered and gotten ready earlier.

"I know it's not great to think about, but we've got to stand together. You, me, Miguel, Lance…it's just us for now, everyone else is left behind…"

"But at least they're safe," I said.

"Yeah…they're safe. Something to be thankful for."

I was just glad that we were still able to sleep together; it was another small comfort, something I cherished warmly as she cuddled up to me and we fell asleep, safe beneath the warm blankets.

xXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXx

"They've managed to hole up in that top tower; we're safe from fire, since we're so close, but they've got a good mark for several blocks."

It was the last thing I wanted at six in the morning; having woken up, showered, dressed and inspected the garrison, I was given some unpleasant news from one of the Rangers, the elite scouts who kept tabs on every single one of our enemies. He looked like some badass commando from an old macho combat movie; balaclava, shades, camo dress, a large backpack and an automatic shotgun to boot.

"Loyalists?"

"No, sir, not Loyalists—some of Nameer's fighters, got themselves up in the temple tower with a sniper. It's a fantastic vantage point—I don't see how they got inside, the temple's closed…"

"Closed? As in inaccessible from the entrance?" I asked, surveying the stand of trees right across the street from us. We stood at the edge of the plaza, beside burned out cars and fallen masonry, surveying the temple hidden in the mighty oaks.

"Locked, or something like that," the ranger answered, shaking his head. "We've tried heavy munitions, explosives, even a tank; but nothing that wouldn't damage the entire temple could get through that main door."

I grumbled unhappily, tapping the butt of the assault rifle slung from my shoulder.

"They must've dug their way in," I said.

"Or they might've airdropped?" Lance suggested. He was standing beside me, on my right; the ranger was standing on the left, cradling his weapon.

"Possibly…"

"It would've been too visible," the ranger corrected. "We would've seen them, from either air or land. Captain Walker's probably right; they most likely dug in beneath. Must have been a hell of an operation."

"Is there any way we can get them out of there?" I asked the ranger, figuring that he knew no better than I did.

"Not without harming the temple. And that's something Carstone is unwilling to do—he won't even bomb near the damn thing, for fear of damaging the superstructure. The only way to take them out is to get inside…"

"Thanks for reporting…er…"

"Officer Realds. Call me Shadow."

"Yeah…thanks, Shadow. Is that your…Ranger's name?"

"Supposed to be…most people just call me 'Officer', since it's my rank. But my callsign is 'Shadow', so most people just refer to me by that."

And, like a shadow, Shadow disappeared into the darkness, heading back to base. After a few more moments, Lance and I both backed into the alley that led back to our main encampment, which was a square of four adjacent backyards emptied and converted into a base camp.

"Well, we should report this to Carstone as soon as possible. He needs to know about this…"

Carstone had been here even earlier this morning, telling us that Miguel and Celine were to be in charge of logistics and security, and that Lance and I would be in charge of operations; it was some screwed up form of joint command, one that Miguel and Celine were not happy to take.

"I'm like a secretary now…I thought I was going to be a combat leader," Celine hissed when she learned of her assignment. She hadn't complained at all to Carstone—he was her superior commandant, after all—but she let out her vexations with me.

"Well, we do need logistics captains—supplies, defense, communications—"

"It's a trivial job," she spat unhappily. "A pussy job—"

"Don't say things like that," I scolded her. "It's important—"

"I came here for combat operations, not managing supplies! The last thing I want to do is be in the reserve, while the rest of you are up front putting yourselves at risk…without me…"

There was no convincing her that her assignment was important; Celine had always had a fighting spirit, and now she was stuck in the back with Miguel, parted from Lance and myself. It was hard for her, I was sure; if I died up front, or was badly injured, she wouldn't know for a few hours, and she would be devastated. But Carstone needed her in charge of the reserve; and if all else failed, she might see action defending our sector—something that she desperately wanted.

The morning was relatively quiet; the men were becoming used to me as captain, although they weren't completely accepting of it. Several of us sat up in the open-air attic of one of the modular homes, watching the other side of the street as the raspers struggled and stumbled about, bleary-eyed and confused. Their clothing and hair was disheveled; their skin was peeling and deprived of any life, and at times it was falling off, completely gray and rotted in some areas. Even the houses looked strange; they had an old, abandoned quality to them, felt as if they hadn't been touched in decades. They had only been abandoned in the past two weeks.

"Anyone wanna pop one of those zombies?" One of the green soldiers asked, raising his hunting rifle eagerly.

"Don't shoot at them. It wastes ammo—and remember, they're still human beings," I warned, and the man lowered his rifle unwillingly.

"Come on, captain…just one? No one's gonna miss 'em—"

"Officer Hart let us pop them like it was a firing range…"

"They're still human—you'd be committing murder if you shot one of them," I warned again, more steadfast this time.

"Does that look human to you, Captain? Does it?" the greenhorn asked defiantly, and one of his comrades supported him.

"They're still a person, an innocent human being…they pose no harm to you over here, not this close—"

"And what if it wanders away from the temple, hunh? What if it goes all mad again, and starts killing everyone? Is it still a person then, eh? Is it?"

"They will never cease to be people—"

"Look at it and tell me? Does it look like a man to you? That shambling, living corpse? It's the enemy, and you shoot the enemy!"

"Lower your rifle, soldier," I warned grimly, as he raised it to his shoulder and took aim at the nearest rasper, which was unaware of the mortal danger he was in. The soldier didn't stop; rather, he steadied his aim.

"These are the enemy, captain…if you ain't got the balls to kill the enemy, you don't need to be captain."

"Don't speak those words to me—"

"You're no leader, you're pathetic—"

The gunshot rang out clearly. He had fired; he had disobeyed my direct orders…

No, no…he hadn't fired…the shot was too distant, too far away. He hadn't pulled the trigger yet; he was waiting, waiting for something. Everyone was waiting as the ring dissipated slowly in the air…

Then another came, and then an outburst of machine gun fire, and more single shots in the distance.

"Contact, contact, East Lockhart St! Loyalist forces, moving in!" My CB radio squawked, and then went silent with static. Our sector, and the northern adjacent, were both under attack.

"East Lockhart, let's gear up and look alive!"

All problems and arguments were forgotten in the face of combat; everyone filed out after me, abandoning their watch—even the belligerent yokel had lowered his rifle and was now sprinting behind me, eager for combat.

"Form up along Lockhart, they'll come to us!" I ordered them. We didn't have far to run; as we sprinted through the base, everyone else was assuming their positions. I could see Lance leading a squad of his own men into position along nearby West Main St, and Celine was lining up the reserve to defend the southern perimeter. Miguel was nowhere to be seen.

"Take up arms, keep your heads down, stay under the watch of that temple tower, they may still have a sniper up there—"

"TANK!"

Everyone was already in their positions when the radio squawked again. I came to a screeching halt at the word; I flung myself behind a wall to take cover in case we came under attack.

"Tank? Tank…where the hell—"

"Coming down East Main, heading for Lockhart, it's one of the Paladins—"

The radio went silent once more.

_Paladins…the heaviest tanks that the government has, used for taking entire towns if necessary…they're sending a Paladin against us? _

The men couldn't hear it—they were deep in their makeshift trench alongside Lockhart St. I needed to get anti-armor ready, and fast.

"Get anti-armor, we've got a Paladin incoming—"

Fear spread like a shockwave through the assembly; at once, the calm, focused unit became disarrayed at the very mentioning of the name. Some of the greener troops began to panic; the elite soldiers were steadfast, but I could tell that they would break quickly if faced with an armored assault.

"It's coming around the plaza now, right towards West Main—"

The radio wasn't helping me; I had to get anti-armor up, and fast…

"We don't have any Silverdarts, captain—"

Silverdarts were pieces of anti-armor artillery that would pierce almost any kind of metal shell that the enemy could throw at us. Unfortunately, we had none in our arsenal. That left us pretty much screwed.

"We have anything?" I asked one of the men, who seemed to know his way around the local armory.

"Just some stickies, that's it—"

"Alright, all of you, pull back to the nearest rear sector, except for you four—"

I pointed to four men, all handpicked randomly. The man who was speaking to me, as well as the belligerent militiaman, were among the chosen.

"Pull back?"

"Pull back, take everyone with you, get to a safe location—we won't stand a chance against armor—"

"Sir, we can't—"

"GO! That's an order!"

The men rushed out of the trench as my four hit the armory, each of us taking a grenade coated in some kind of sticky tarlike substance. These were rudimentary sticky bombs; they would attach themselves to any surface and detonate with a fuse—crude, but effective, especially against heavy armor. Taking out the Paladin would be relatively easy with them; attaching the devices, much harder.

The base was emptying; Celine had apparently understood the message, and was pulling back the reserves. I took my squad across 39th Street, to the Wither controlled side of town, just as the Paladin rounded the temple and fired a round at the gunworks that I had abandoned. The entire trench exploded in a massive cloud of dust and mud, spraying the nearby houses with dirt and leaving a gigantic crater in the street and sidewalk.

"Nice call getting us out of there, cap…"

One of the point men, armed with a hybrid sniper/assault rifle, was rather pleased to have escaped death. However, my orders had not yet been made clear.

"No offense, sir, but…what the hell _are _we doing?"

"We'll get around to the temple, behind that tank…plant charges, detonate them, and hope it works…"

"That's a long shot," one of the men whispered as we took cover in an alleyway. There were two raspers behind us, but they had been pacified; their heads were slumped against a wall, and they gurgled idly.

"It is, but we don't have anything else. Bullets won't do anything to that armor…"

We watched the Paladin roll around the curb of the temple plaza. It was like a regular tank, but it had extra armor plating, and massive shield-like obstructions all around the sides and back. The front was armed with a bulldozer contraption, and it had two main guns—both parallel to one another. One HMG acted as a sentry on top, controlled by a single soldier.

"It's a mobile demolitions platform," the sniper remarked sarcastically, as the Paladin brought down an entire house with a single shot from each cannon.

"We're wasting time…let's move…"

We snuck and slid past raspers, all of whom were oblivious to our presence. We couldn't stray too far, else they would start to notice us; there was only a certain, small distance from the temple we could go before they became aggressive once more.

"Goddamn things give me the creeps," the militiaman grunted as we circled around the block and came to the southern edge of the temple, from which the massive double doors were visible.

"Don't shoot them unless they attack. We've already had this conversation—"

The tank was now rounding the sector, heading down 39th. The crew had realized that the base was abandoned; the Paladin began to turn around, having difficulty doing a 360 in the tight space that the residential street provided.

"Now's our best chance, let's smack these on," I ordered.

One by one the men silently moved in a line parallel to one of the houses, to avoid detection. We snuck up to the tank, unseen by the gunner, who was shouting something to someone else. As I looked back at the temple, I realized who that was—an entire squad of Loyalist soldiers, headed for our sector.

_They're trying to annex it…they have three times as many people as we do…_

There had to be fifteen soldiers in that group, against our five; I couldn't call back the ones who had retreated, even though that would make us outnumber them…we were alone against a tank and an entire platoon of heavily armed Loyalist troopers.

"We've got ours attached, captain…"

The tank was now firmly wedged between a fence and the side of a house; the beast was so massive, it had gotten itself stuck. I knew that it would be able to break the fence and begin turning around; the gunner would certainly see us…

I slapped my sticky bomb onto the rigid exterior of the tank, making sure that it was inside the shield protrusions, and then ran for cover.

I was too late, though; the front end of the tank smashed through the wooden fence with ease, and it came around to the point that the gunner could see me. As I ran away, and heard the bullets ring out, and felt the small shard of metal strike me in my ankle, the first fuse went off.

The tank was damaged, but it was not until the others went off that anything happened. One after another, the stickies exploded, knocking off several of the shields, killing the gunner, and disabling the vehicle. The armor platform was now completely immobile, on fire at several points, and smoking profusely, thick black smog that rose up in the air and spread out into the houses.

"Wait for the crew to come out," I ordered as the men started to back away, thinking their job was done.

The hatch of the tank opened, and two operators stumbled out, coughing and retching. Every single gun lit up, bringing them down as they showered the hapless crewmen with lead. The third man met the same fate, and he fell over the broken exterior of the tank, hitting the scorched pavement hard.

As I led them around the burning hulk of the tank, I realized that we were now cut off. There was combat in the next sector, the one farther west; but our sector was lost, being overtaken by Loyalist soldiers. I killed two with the rifle before they realized that they were being flanked, and we rushed to the nearest house across 39th Street, taking heavy fire from positions within our base.

"Watch our flanks, we're surrounded!" I called out as we dived inside one of the houses.

"Use the windows, be careful—"

Glass shattered, wallpaper ripped, bullets bounced off of metal objects. We were taking more than just small arms fire; somewhere there was a heavy machine gun, raining down lead on our position to try to suppress us.

"If you can get a bead…on that goddamn machine gunner…that would be nice!" one of the soldiers shouted, as glass and bits of drywall rained down on him. He was speaking to our sniper; as the sniper rose up, trying to find the source of the shooter, three bullets struck him in the head, and he was instantly killed.

"Agh…you've got to be kidding me!"

I tried to dash out of the house, back along Lockhart Street. There were no Loyalist soldiers behind us; the plaza was empty, although gunfire roared from the sector north of us. I took cover in the bank, where the windows were shattered and one of the gas mains was leaking.

I had a clear sight on the machine gunner; they were set up in our command center, the house that Celine and I lived in…

I used the optics to sight into my target, and popped each gunner twice. Each fell over, onto the floor, their blood sprays visible in the window. There were other Loyalists in each house, firing on my men; I popped as many as I could, firing until my clip was empty, and my ammunition reserve was emptied.

By that time, we had gained the upper hand. Two Loyalist soldiers came out of one of the sheds, holding their hands up high.

"Hold your fire, hold your fire!" I called, restraining my troops—only two of them exited their defenses, both shaken and splattered with blood. It was one of the regular soldiers and the militiaman. The other man, whose name I did not know, was not present.

"They got Smithers, caught him in the shoulder…he bled to death, Captain," the militiaman spoke hoarsely, his rifle still pointed at our prisoners.

"Shall we shoot?"

"No, no…they're more useful alive than dead. At least we got two," I ordered, and the two men lowered their rifles slightly.

Celine, Miguel and the rest of our sector came back in a few minutes. I delivered the prisoners to them—Celine said that her logistics group would take care of them—and we burned the bodies in a large pyre. The wreckage of the Paladin still sat in the street—too heavy to move, but far enough from anything important to pose a problem. We could use it as cover in the future—it was still good enough to block bullets.

Our Ranger squad—Shadow, Tala, Full Moon and Pierce—would gather more intel in the future, going deep behind enemy lines to try to warn us of future attacks. They were my most valuable asset—it would be something I would use to my huge advantage later on.

That day had been full of blood, smoke and fire; it could've been far worse, many more casualties. But I had proven myself to my squad as a competent leader—one who not only averted a slaughter, but threw back some of the best Loyalist forces they had. Granted, their numbers were small, but our odds had been way against us, and the victory was nothing short of impressive. It was the day I became a true commander, and it was the first of many days that would test the mettle of our defenses and our troopers.

**References, references, references.**

**War is hell, everyone. These next few chapters will be more focused on Miguel, Celine and Lance—poor Lance has barely had any screen time, and it's about time he got into the fight.**

**All reviews are, of course, welcome! The next chapter will be written soon—definitely by the end of the week!**

**Regards,**

**Exb**


	38. Wither Rising, Part I

**Before the weekend, as promised :D**

**Ladies and gentlemen, Halloween in fast approaching us. The time of full moons, jack o' lanterns and spooky stories has come…and thus, I have decided to play a little game called "Amnesia: The Dark Descent." Let me fill you in on some of it, as far as I've gotten…**

**AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH IT'S SOOOOOOOO SCARY DXXXXX**

**Ok, that's kind of the idea. But this is about as far as you can get from a campy horror tale. I almost wet myself playing this one night—the atmosphere that the game establishes is bloody brilliant, the audio and lighting are fantastic, and the storyline is enjoyable to follow. The tale places you in a decrepit castle in the year 1839, with no memory of what you've done or how you've come to be in this rural Prussian stronghold. The basic idea is to progress through the many rooms and areas of the castle, collecting anecdotes and diary entries that reveal more about your character and his relationship to the castle and its mysterious owner. All the while, you are beset by shambling entities that remain in the shadows, hunting you relentlessly as you head deeper into the castle.**

**Oh, and you don't have any weapons to fight back with. And your main light source? It's a lantern with limited oil, which you must find as your progress. So, you have to either run or hide from the Gatherers, while making sure that you don't run out of oil. Or else you're stuck in the darkness.**

**And did I mention that the longer you're in the dark, the lower your sanity drops? And the lower your sanity drops, the more hallucinations you'll see—the screen will flicker and your vision will become blurry, and you'll see things that aren't there, including monsters and mysterious figures. And eventually you'll fall unconscious and be helpless on the floor for at least thirty seconds, which is bad if there's an enemy lurking nearby…**

**And did I mention it's scary as hell? Yeah…the audio and atmosphere really make it terrifying. It's slow-burn, not jump scare…for anyone who's a fan of slow or psychological horror, BUY THIS and PLAY IT. Perfect for Halloween :D**

**So, yes, that is what I'm playing right now. I figured I'd mention it, just because. Anyway, on with answers!**

**Woohooman14: He was hit in the ankle with shrapnel—really minor wound, nothing important. He'll shake it off.**

**TerrarianCreeper: It's good to ask questions—they're meant to be answered. And yes, I did take that from Harry Potter—I just didn't remember that I referenced it. And the reason I put Lance in more is because he hasn't been really featured yet—it's time he got his dues as commander of the squad along with Leon.**

**PigeonFligher: I just made up the Paladin, really, but I based it off of German Tiger tanks from WWII. To some extent, at least. And I'll make sure that the caramel reaches its destination :D**

**BlakeyBoy: I shall keep updating!**

**HPE24: I'll just keep on referencing—and it makes more sense to reference TMC, really. I mean…it's kind of a myth, right? Ancient heroes taking on mob armies and saving the human race? That could easily be a legend for these guys—and there's quite a bit to reference there, and IT DESERVES IT D:**

**And yeah, I just recently saw how HP fit in with this. It's a bit similar, I guess.**

**shadowAaron34: It's good to see another reviewer on the block—I hope that you become a regular, but it's not necessary. And I think I answered most of this in a PM, but I needed to give you an answer anyway. And more cookies for your lambda :D**

xXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXx

_It can't get any worse from here…this is the lowest I've sunk…_

"Pull it together, Markus…I've got your back, you know that…"

Jens Bergensten had always had Notch's back; ever since the UN hearings had begun, Jens had been in New York with him. The nights had been late and long; teams of lawyers held conventions until two in the morning, trying to keep Notch from going before a world court as a criminal. He had upset the balance of space/time; although the effects had not yet occurred, it was only a matter of days before people began to notice.

"Well, it's kind of you to be here. But what else can we do?"

"Well…what about your brother?"

"I told you," Notch snapped, smacking the flat of his hand against the hardwood desk, "Herobrine has gone missing. I haven't had communication with him for two days now. I can't get through…there's a disturbing amount of interference, and I cannot contact him at all."

"Well, we know what the threat is at least—that part is cleared up."

Jeb wasn't helping; now that Notch knew what he was facing, he found it harder and harder to tell the Secretary-General what was wrong with Minecraft.

_Those morons…are trying to build a portal to our dimension…they'd break time and space if they succeeded. They'd destroy us, themselves, countless other worlds…haven't they even given thought to the consequences of their actions?_

"They're building a portal—"

"Yes, yes, the 'government' that I created is building a portal. There's no way to stop them from up here…not with the computer virus…"

Minecraft was now infected; someone, somehow, had implanted a "Wither" into the digital mainframe of the sentience program, and that virus had manifested as a sentient entity inside of the simulation. Slowly, the program's coding was being chewed up and spit out by these Withers; the landscape was being destroyed, and then the landmass would cease to exist, until there was nothing inside the program. It would be an empty box then; the code would be deleted, everything that Notch had worked so hard on would have been destroyed by a single virus…

"It's the virus that's causing the interference, isn't it?" Jeb suggested, pouring himself a cold glass of wine and sitting on the couch of the hotel room. The lights of New York City glowed below the towering hotel, and even higher up the skyscrapers that dominated the metropolis.

"I believe so…there's no other explanation for it…"

"Is there a way to combat it, then?" Jeb asked.

"Inside, yes…the simulations are fighting it. They don't see it as a virus—they see it as a real enemy…"

Jeb seemed quite confused; Notch decided that it was pertinent for his right-hand man to know as much as possible about the Minecraft simulation.

"Everyone inside of Minecraft is pure, simple code. That's the basis of it—you understand that as well as I do. But it does go beyond that…their code is so advanced, that they've developed sentience, personality, feelings beyond that of an AI, _far _beyond that of an AI. They're lines of programming with their own unique traits, people who feel and love and hate. And they don't see it like that—they see themselves as flesh and blood, and they see the Withers not as code that will destroy their code, but flesh that will destroy _their flesh_. Does that make any sense?"

"To some extent," Jeb said, downing the wine heartily.

"Very complex technology…I never meant for them to be sentient, it was just an experiment…"

"So, you've let them craft the world around them? They've changed the simulation?"

"To an extreme point," Notch answered. "They've stripped the world of its resources, gone far beyond their boundaries and grown beyond their carrying capacity. They're _so _much like us…it's almost scary, really. And that's why I decided to launch the apocalypse."

"You…just decided to kill millions of them?" Jeb asked.

"In a manner of speaking, yes. I programmed natural disasters—something I hadn't done before—and then unleashed hell on the populace. I _meant _for some to escape—I didn't want to kill everyone, that wasn't the point. They had reached their carrying capacity, their resources were dwindling. So, I brought their population down to an acceptable level. But things didn't turn out quite the way they were supposed to…"

"The civil war."

"Yes, yes, indeed. This is what makes them different from any other computer program…they think for themselves, have their own beliefs and ideals. One side sees the government as weak and unstable, and they are trying to put their own people in charge. The other believes that _they _are the only ones who can restore their people to power, and will fight to the death to defend their party. It's quite interesting, really, if you don't think of it as people killing one another."

"But that's what they are, Markus," Jeb argued. "They are people, sort of—if you look beyond the lines of code, they look just like human beings, gunning each other down without a second thought. It's massacre…even if they are computer programs—"

"It's what they chose to do. I cannot interfere, and even if I could, I wouldn't. Too much at stake to interfere—let them fight it out. Think of it as an experiment, Jeb," Notch said, grabbing his bowler hat and coat to go out once more; he had a conference in fifteen minutes with his lawyer team.

"An experiment? Is that all they are to—"

Notch left without another word; Jeb was seething inside by this point, but he allowed himself to remain calm. The time would come soon enough; all of this would be resolved, and Minecraft could go back to the way it used to be—8-bit fun free of sentient AIs slaughtering one another.

xXXXXXXXXXXXXXx

"Did you break them?"

"They really didn't break, they just started talking. Said the Loyalists weren't paying them, and it wasn't worth being tortured just to keep their secrets. The prisoners gave us as much info as they could," I reported to Commander Carstone. The interrogation session with the two Loyalist captives had been brief; as soon as I entered the room, they calmly flooded me with intel, telling me everything.

"Really?"

"Said as much as they could. Said they had no interest in going back, and would be glad to join us. We checked them also—no hidden bombs, no secret papers, nothing. Not even dog tags," I said.

"Quite sad, really, the state of their army," Carstone sneered, looking at my report. "I would think that the government would be able to throw more at us than a heavy tank and some buffoons playing military dress-up…"

We had learned that the government was stockpiling heavy ammunition and explosives at a shopping outlet on the eastern edge of Adelina, and that recently eighteen motorcycles and four Ocelot-class light tanks had been shipped in as part of a "future offensive". It wasn't much info, but it was enough to tell us that the Loyalists were planning to bring the hammer down.

"I think they were testing us…send in some light troops, one of their tanks…"

"Maybe, maybe. That tank would've done a major number on us…I'm proud of you, Captain. You did well out there," Carstone complimented me, handing the report back.

"Thank you, sir—"

"Now, on to business. I can see your theory about them testing our defenses…the Paladin doesn't make since, it's usually used for major assaults. But I think they were seeing how prepared we were."

"I agree, sir," I said, slightly irritated. Carstone had just rephrased my theory.

"They have a significant presence in Adelina, including some heavy elite soldiers. I wouldn't be surprised if they launched another attack tonight…the only thing stopping them would be interference from Nameer's forces."

"Intelligence said that Nameer's been moving more troops in?"

"Spy birds found huge convoys of troops just marching through the deserts, into Adelina…there was nothing we could do about it, really," Carstone said. "I think they're planning to drown us in raw recruits…it could easily work, I suppose."

"That's their tactic? Human wave attacks, that's it?" I asked, surprised. Nameer struck me as an intelligent individual; a man who had smuggled suicide bombers into Terra Nova, brought down several planes from the ground, and managed to survive in a stronghold right next to Withered territory.

"That's usually what they go for if they want something bad. Thousands of people flock to him—he's an insane zealot, but his charisma really attracts the young, restless and poor. Not a good professional army, mind you, but one that's effective with numbers."

"So, when do you think they'll attack?"

"Night, probably," Carstone said absentmindedly. "They wouldn't dare to attack during in broad daylight. They'll wait until the sun's down to swarm you."

"Ugh, Notch…I figured they would…"

"You've got all day to get your perimeter secured, Captain. We'll have reinforcements on station to push them back—this will get personal, though, be warned. They will come tonight, almost certainly."

I was waiting anxiously for most of the day; it was quiet after yesterday's action. I was promised that the Loyalists would not strike at my sector, but I would get the full force of Nameer's wave assault. It was a lot to handle for the second day of command; already the soldiers looked up to me as a brilliant, top-notch leader, a full 180 from the previous day. How would we hold down this sector with only eighty soldiers and a couple of machine guns? With the massive amount of hostiles supposed to be attacking, it would be a long shot…

"They've got two .50 cals moved up to the sidewalk, and we're digging the trenches deeper. Sandbags, barbed wire, debris, calcicrete, we're piling it all up around the perimeter, make the defensive line stronger," Lance filled me in at around noon.

"There are only eighty of us…"

"Still enough to hold down the fort for quite a while. We're going to make this as impenetrable as possible."

Out of the trees surrounding the temple, Shadow and Tala emerged, dashing across Lockhart St and to the safety of the barricades in our block.

"Any news?" I asked the two rangers as they returned, out of breath.

"They're definitely…building up over…there," Shadow spoke, clutching his knees. "Lots of troop movement to the front, all light-armed infantry. Human waves, Carstone said…"

"It will be tonight, for sure," Tala added.

I sighed angrily, plastering the palm of my hand to my forehead, involuntarily. It was the worst news possible; the two, who had never brought back incorrect information, had returned with a confirmation that the assault was imminent.

"Sorry to bring you bad news, Cap," Shadow said.

"You did your job well," I reassured them. Both of them removed their balaclavas, and for the first time I saw their faces. Shadow's was worn and scarred; his stringy brown hair disheveled and tattered. Tala's sleek black hair was greasy and unwashed, having been exposed to the elements for several days on a reconnaissance mission, without a proper shower. Both were in the prime of their youth, handsome men and women.

"Get some rest, both of you. You've done well—"

"With all due respect, sir, we can head back out there and do some sabotage—"

"You'll need your strength for tonight. Get some rest, be back at the front by five tonight," I ordered sternly. Both complied without another word, and headed back to the main barracks.

"So…it's certain that they'll come?"

"Unfortunately, yes. It's imminent, and we can only prepare so much."

"Do you think they were wrong, maybe?" Lance asked, with a slightly forlorn hope.

"Shadow's eyes never lie to him, and Tala's ears hear everything. If they bring news back, it's the truth—Nameer wants Adelina for whatever reasons he has, and he's bent on taking it. We have to be bent on keeping it out of his hands."

I spoke no more with Lance; he assembled other defenses, while I got some good rest back at the command post. I was worn out after yesterday, with a massive fight ahead of me; I needed at least a bit of downtime, if not a good couple hours of sleep before sunset.

"Carstone said he wanted me at the front tonight. That's some good news," Celine said as she stepped into our quarters. She had been back in the reserve all day, commissioning new supplies and ammunition deliveries, which were supposed to arrive before nightfall.

"Define good news…"

"I'm glad to be in the fighting, and so is Miguel. I don't like being separate from you…especially if your life is in danger."

"We won't be having any fun up there tonight. You heard the news—"

"Well, I'm glad to see some action," she said forcefully, laying her arms and captain's cap aside. "It's ten times better than standing behind lines doing secretary work all day."

I was tired of lying down in bed; I had been asleep for at least three hours before Celine returned from her reserve duties. As she undressed and showered in the bathroom, I sat at the windowsill, staring at the one temple tower that rose above the mighty oaks.

What could possibly be inside that temple? And how did the insurgents gain access to it in the first place? If it were as simple as digging underneath the town and getting inside, the Loyalist forces would've done so a long time ago—the temple was the single reason that they had a strong presence in Adelina. Otherwise, they would've abandoned it to the Withers a long time ago.

_It pacifies the Withers…an object like that could benefit any of the factions. But what is it that does such a thing?_

I lost track of the time that I spent sitting at the window, watching that lone tower peeping above the rustling leaves of the trees. By the time Celine had dressed and armed herself, the sun was beginning to set in the western sky, casting deep shadows all over town.

"We've got about half an hour before the sun's down," Celine said as she closed the bathroom door behind her, and retrieved her assault rifle. "Carstone said to be ready at any time after the sun sets."

"The earlier the better. Lance is already out there anyway," I said, and we made for the front lines.

The entire sector was locked down, resembling some sort of high security bunker for nuclear weapons storage. There were pillboxes everywhere, stuffed with machine guns and extra ammunition. Barbed wire blocked off almost any access point, and sandbags guarded every single nook and cranny, and reinforced both the sidewalk perimeter and the pillboxes nestled in each house and garage. The bank had been turned into a concrete fortress; machine guns poked out of the windows, which had been busted out and reinforced with sandbags and some concrete. The roof was a sniper's nest, occupied by at least three sharpshooters; and the basement had been turned into a temporary medical triage, with several staff on hand to treat field injuries until wounded soldiers could be shipped back to the reserves.

It was quite an assembly, with our garrison of a hundred fighters and several support staff ready for combat. Lance was up at the sidewalk, having set up his command post inside the house on the block's corner. It had been badly damaged during the previous firefight, and part of its roof had been blown off by a tank round—but it was still in good condition, and the brick exterior provided more than enough cover from bullets and even some heavier munitions.

"Any reports?" I asked Lance as I strolled into his command center. Miguel was there as well, conferring with one of the sharpshooters.

"Full Moon came in earlier, said that there were massive amounts of movement on the southeastern side of Adelina. They're not holding anything back, sir…they'll be coming in full force."

"And what about the Loyalists? Any news on them?"

"Same for them, but they're not targeting us. They're trying to hit the northern blocks, capture some of that territory. But yeah, reports are basically the same—gearing up for a massive assault."

The Rangers never lied; the attack was coming, and it was only a matter of time. I set myself up on the second floor of the bank, where a temporary communications and watch post had been established. I connected with Commander Carstone, who was on the other line trying to coordinate every single garrison captain in Adelina.

"Commander?"

"Well, it's about damn time you got online, Captain Walker…listen, you and I both know that your sector will bear the brunt of the assault tonight. It's going to be a hell of a fight out there."

"I'm very well aware of that, Commander," I answered, slightly irate. I had heard this a hundred times already…

"Well, I want you to know that I have eight-hundred soldiers on station ready to assist and, if necessary, launch a counterattack."

That made me stutter for a moment.

_Eight hundred soldiers? That's nearly ten times the number I've got right now…_

"Eight…hundred?"

"Plus attack helicopters and LAV support. If you need to strike back at them, we're equipped and ready to hit Nameer's forces hard."

Carstone seemed pleased at my silence; he had assumed that I was not expecting so much reinforcement.

"I…thank you, sir—"

"Don't thank me yet, Captain. It isn't even dusk yet, and we have yet to see whether or not these boys will be needed. Get offline and finish your preparations, Captain Walker—and stay alert in case I need to contact you."

"Of course, sir—"

The line was cut off; Carstone seemed eager to be off the line. He had probably been arguing and bickering with the upper echelons all day over tactics and defenses, and was tired of messaging ever commanding officer in the nation. I couldn't blame him; as leader of the Secessionist forces in Adelina, he had a lot to be responsible for.

I stepped back outside as the dim glow of the sunset began to grow darker.

Weapons were held up to shoulders, their owners gripping them with white knuckles.

Sweat rolled down brows and foreheads, stinging eyes and dripping down onto the dusty ground.

Hearts raced and beat like mighty, thunderous machines, pulsing rapidly without any rest or requiem.

Feet shuffled restlessly, kicking up dust and dirt as they moved back and forth, shifting nervously in their heavy boots.

Safeties clicked off, silencers were screwed onto barrels, magazines were loaded in and primed with a single click. Belts of bullets were fed into the insatiable bellies of machine guns, and deadly projectiles were forced with muffled thumps into long black tubes. Optics were zoomed in on the houses and buildings on the other side of the plaza, watching for an enemy that would appear at any moment.

I stood beside Celine, her arms tensed and her weapon aimed out at space, the same as every other gun. Like everyone else, her body was stiff and rigid, her eyes locked on some object out beyond the temple, on the other side of the plaza. There was no movement over there, but everybody seemed so sure that the streets would erupt with activity within seconds.

I turned the safety off, and raised my own rifle to face one of the windows on the other side. Everything was so quiet, so apprehensive; it was as if the world around us had come to a sudden stop, and only Adelina mattered at the moment. For all I knew, it might've been the most important place on the globe at this very second—whatever happened this night could change the course of history.

We were waiting, arms raised, ready to gun down the first thing that moved on the opposite side…the seconds were ticking by, any moment now I was expecting a rapid burst of gunfire, a chorus of shouts and roars, explosions and the screams of the dying…

Ten minutes passed…

Then twenty…

And then thirty. Gunshots rippled through the silent air from the other side, along with shouts and screams; there were more of them, hundreds of rounds poured out into the night. Not directed at us at all; they were far from our position. Rather, it sounded like the militants were under attack, most likely by Loyalist forces. It was not entirely impossible, but it seemed unlikely considering that it had already been half an hour since sundown.

And then an hour had come and gone, and we were still standing stock-still, our muscles aching and our joints sore from holding our weapons up so long. Many of the commoners were wondering what the hell was happening; some of them were whispering fearfully amongst one another, and others were casting furtive glances from one area to the next, apprehensive about what would happen next.

There was gunfire again, but not anywhere near us. From up north, in the upper portions of town, there was heavy combat, significant fighting marked by bursts of gunfire and multitudinous explosions. But nothing here; another thirty minutes passed before Lance spoke up.

"Something ain't right here…"

"Maybe they're playing a waiting game? Keeping us on our toes, waiting until we loosen our guard?" Celine suggested, swearing as she dropped her rifle while trying to lower it. Her arms were shaking furiously, and I could tell that she had exhausted herself trying to hold the weapon in position.

Some of the men did the same, most of them militia or recruits; the more seasoned soldiers held their ground, their weapons still ready, but I could tell that they were becoming disgruntled and tired.

"It's possible, but unlikely. These aren't Loyalists…they're impetuous, and they broadcast their attacks pretty well. They wouldn't wait like this," I said concernedly.

"Then what the hell are they doing over there? Flipping coins to see who goes out first?"

"I have no idea what they're doing, but from what I've heard, this isn't like the militants…"

"It's not like them at all," Tala spoke out of nowhere. She had just emerged from one of the houses, along with Shadow, who was looking anxious. "I know Nameer's militants pretty damn well, and they're not ones to play waiting games. Even if the odds are against them, they'll strike come hell or high water."

Tala, again, revealed her knack for a concise knowledge of her enemies; not only did she know the militant's weapons and vehicles by heart, she also knew their tactics and strategies.

"They always use sneak or human wave attacks—it's either one or the other. If they were using one of those two, we'd know by now. We'd either have detonated a bomb in our headquarters, or rushed us with hundreds of green zealots. Something's gone wrong—maybe the Loyalists hit them first? They're no close friends of Nameer…"

I glanced over at the other side of town, now more concerned than ever; what _had _happened? There had been no gunfire from over there; I could tell that farther north there was heavy combat, but very few shots had been fired ever since the furious ten minutes of combat that had occurred earlier. No movement, no gunshots, nothing from the other side.

"Alright, we need to figure out what's going on. Miguel, come with the Rangers and I—we're going to the other side, see what's happening."

"What if the—"

"Whatever's going on over there, we need to know. If we end up in a roomful of armed fanatics, we'll know that they're still over there…I do hope that we don't, though…"

"The passage underneath the town is extremely safe—we're the only ones who know about it," Tala spoke up, interrupting Miguel as he began to protest again. She and Shadow led the way down into one of the basements nearby, that of a small house. She lifted the grating off of a large drainage hole, and led us down into an expansive tunnel that led off in two directions, both of them pitch black. It reminded me strongly of sneaking underneath Langsford Peak, so many weeks ago.

"And you said nobody knows about this?" I asked Tala as she lit a flashlight and led the way down the tunnel.

"They certainly won't—it's only on certain versions of the town utilities map, and it was supposed to be the last stop for a proposed subway line. If you go out the other way, you'll eventually reach Terra Nova—in a few days."

The government _had _to know that this existed—they designed it, after all—but there was no sign of any other occupants in the system. Eventually we reached another ladder, which led up to yet another grate. Tala silently removed this and helped the rest of us up into a dingy, barely-lit cellar.

"Other side?"

"Yep, hostile territory. This is how we get all of our information—our own little Underground Railroad," Shadow answered from behind me, dusting grime off of his camo suit.

It was a bad sign that there were bloodstains on the stairwell leading up into the house. I thought little of it—perhaps there had been combat in here, and the Loyalists had been driven back? There was a body, that of a militiaman, but we ignored it for the most part. It was not until our little search party stepped out into the street that we realized that this was not the work of Loyalists.

The sidewalk and entire sections of the street were _covered _in thick red blood; bodies lay shredded and flayed, scattered sickeningly across the street and into the yards and alleyways. There must've been dozens, hundreds of corpses, all in various manners of mutilation and dismemberment that could not be wrought by any sane human being.

Many of them were already decomposing, their skin sloughing off and grayness seeping into their already pale flesh. Some bodies were beyond recognition; chunks of flesh and pools of blood were the only things remaining. Spent shell casings were everywhere, along with abandoned guns and HMG emplacements.

"This can't be Loyalists," Tala seethed, kicking one of the bodies aside. "They would never create this large of a mess…"

"There aren't any bullet wounds in the bodies that remain intact," I noticed, examining one of the more complete corpses. His eye were completely black and vague, the iris blotted out by the dark black color that pervaded the normally white cornea. Foam seeped from his mouth, and his pale flesh was taking on a mottled gray color. There was no blood on him; on several other corpses, there was a distinct lack of blood or injury.

"This isn't right…something isn't right here…"

"There's nothing right about this…what the hell could do this to—"

Shadow stopped mid-sentence; I was stooped over the corpse, and I hadn't noticed one of the others begin to rise, gurgling as it hefted itself up on its shaky legs.

_Withers…Withers killed them all…_

I realized this too late—I had plenty of hints before. The black eyes, the decomposition, the grayish skin, the frantic gunfire an hour earlier…this was no Loyalist attack, no slaughter of men by men. This was a Wither assault…

The raspers were waking now, their hour-long slumber over; no longer men really, but no longer corpses. Now I knew why there was no blood on these bodies—they weren't truly dead. They had been hit by one of the Wither's darts, the ones that corrupted living things, turned them towards the chaotic ways that ruled these dark creatures.

_The Withers destroy many, sparing few…but those who are spared are only introduced to a new era of agony and misery in their lives. Raspers…conscious, feeling, but not in control. They suffer pain at every waking moment, and can only do what their masters command. Only the tiny darts can transform a man into one of these malformations…the lucky ones are ripped to pieces, a merciful end compared to the ones who will soon wake…_

I remembered hearing one of the men speak about raspers a few days back, describe them. Now we were surrounded by corpses that were rising from their short sleep, staggering to a new life, their black eyes sullen. These were not like the passive raspers; there was fire in their eyes, a hatred for the living flesh that stood before them. Shadow and Tala shot the first one that rose, but there were more; Miguel was stock-still, his eyes flickering rapidly back and forth between each rasper. As we gathered in a group, weapons raised and ready, a hundred shrieks rent the night air, the cries of the newborn who were only beginning their cycle of torment.


	39. Wither Rising, Part II

**This, ladies and gentlemen, is a stunning moment for this little fanfiction.**

**Our very own HPE24 has crafted with the simplest drawing tools an astounding masterpiece that you have probably noticed already.**

**We have a COVER, EVERYONE!**

**This A/N is dedicated to HPE, whose real name remains a mystery as of now. But it is dedicated to the hard work, the time, and the extreme effort she put into this cover, just with PAINT. Yes, PAINT. The program that still eludes me when I try to draw straight lines…and she made that just with Paint, and a brilliant idea. For the past week, we have been working together (sort of) on this project. She has done almost all the work—I came up with character designs and weapons—but the true genius lies with her. The cover perfectly defines this fic, and I am struggling to find a way to repay her for this fantastic piece of work that she has bestowed upon me. **

**Thank you, truly, HPE, for your effort. It is a beautiful thing to look upon, and really makes this fic stand out.**

**And those Withers look downright terrifying…**

**Anyway, answers :D**

**Ptrip3: Ah, you've played Slender. Not as bad as Amnesia or Fatal Frame, but…still creepy. And yes, I've played it :P**

**BlakeyBoy: You will see ;P**

**HPE24: Well, you know how this cover turned out. Nothing more needs to be said :)**

**Guest: Uh…thanks? I shouldn't respond to random guest reviews. Get an account if you want to say something, please.**

**PigeonFligher: Those birds…you can't trust them. I have a feeling that Crow is always watching me…but yeah, the Withers. Terrible things to fight, I'm sure. Haven't fought them yet, since they aren't released…but I don't plan on it O_O**

**Dagsar12: Haven't found the iron maiden yet. Not sure where that will be, but I'm still in the prison. Figuring out why I just picked up a glass jar -_-**

**Eta7400: Ah, you've finally read this! I'm glad that you found it enjoyable—and I hope that her cover suits the story well enough?**

**xXXXXXXXXXXXx**

The raspers were still becoming accustomed to their surroundings, and took a while to realize that we were standing right in the middle of them. However, the Wither that came around the corner noticed us immediately; fifty feet away, the three heads reared up in midair, their six eyes blazing furiously and their skeletal, shrieking mouths agape at us intruders.

The fiend was like nothing I had ever seen before; it was the width of a small car, its massive body floating lazily in midair and surrounded with some sort of shimmering gray smoke. The three heads seemed to be independent, but at the same time one entity; each one of them rose at the same time, and fired three black projectiles in our general direction, as the gurgling corpses turned their attention to us.

"RUN, RUN! GO!"

Tala's shouts carried over all the waking raspers, and we blithely followed behind her, heading back for the house that contained the basement exit. But we were too late.

All three projectiles hit the house, destroying it completely; the closest wall was blasted into pieces, and the shockwave from the explosion knocked us back onto the hard ground. Dust rose into the air, a choking, thick dust that carried a terrible, alien odor to it.

The Wither was drawing closer, locked in on its targets, as the raspers began to shriek and scream and notice our group lying helpless, disoriented on the ground…

The Rangers were already up and holding off the Raspers, who were much faster than the Withers themselves. They were felled by bullets, but with difficulty; I noticed that several rounds had to hit their heads before they collapsed.

"Get them up and out of here, we don't have time!" Tala roared at Shadow, who was trying to help us up off the ground. With some difficulty, I forced myself up out of the dirt, a dull pain driving through my leg. I realized that a cracked piece of masonry had pierced my thigh and had opened up a nasty gash—it was still driven into my flesh as I tried to keep pressure off of the wounded leg and focus on the nearest rasper.

It took half of a magazine to bring the thing down; my aim was off, as my arms were shaking, and it would normally take half a dozen bullets without accounting for inaccurate fire. The creature was five feet from me before it finally fell to the ground, splayed out pathetically in the dust.

"We're cut off, Tala—"

Shadow cut down another rasper with his rifle before having to reload; I covered for him as the others picked themselves up out of the dirt and took up their firing positions.

"I know, I know, give me a second—"

"We don't have a second! They're all over us!"

At that moment, one of the infected made it to Shadow and began to attack him with fists and claws; it was already Swiss cheese, thanks to me, but it had not gone down yet, and was still furiously attempting to murder the Ranger, who was forced to fight back using his rifle as a club.

"Damnit, damnit, get it off of me!"

"Tala, we need an escape route—"

As Shadow riddled the wounded rasper with more bullets, I was the only one in any position to try to lead our group. Celine and Miguel were disoriented, the former still trying to clear a jam out of her rifle. We had only three guns firing, and the raspers were closing in, dozens of them now. The Wither was only watching; it was as if he was observing, wondering how we would handle the situation, as if we were lab rats, part of a giant experiment…

"The tunnel!"

"The what—"

"The tunnel that these guys dug, to get to the temple! I think I know the access point, follow me!"

Without question, I followed Tala, and the others straggled behind us. We were led through alleyways and cramped backyards, past abandoned houses and derelict appliances and cars. There were raspers, but fewer here; the others were chasing behind us, not intelligent enough to take a faster route or flank around us.

"As long as we stay ahead of them, we should be good. It's not far from here, not far—"

"We're going in the opposite direction of the temple, though!" I pointed out. We were running farther east, away from safe territory.

"I know, I know!" Tala snapped, gunning down one of the raspers that blocked our path. "Trust me, we're almost there!"

I almost ran into Tala when she stopped abruptly in front of a larger, two-story house. She raised her goggles, peered inside one of the windows, down at the floor, and threw the unlocked door open.

"It's this one, inside quickly!" she ordered. Without question, I followed her in, as Shadow, Miguel and Celine sprinted inside, almost falling on top of each other as they entered.

Tala rammed the door shut with a slam and strained to maneuver a heavy wooden desk into place in front of the entryway. She placed it into position just in time; three heavy bodies slammed into the front door, and began to pound violently on it.

"How do you know this is it?" Shadow asked, gasping for breath. Miguel, who had fallen down onto the floor, received a helping hand from Celine. He was injured as well; blood ran down his arm in copious amounts from some wound that I could not see, most likely under his clothing.

Tala pointed to a small hole in the floor, just large enough to stick your arm through. There was equipment down in the darkness below, shovels and picks and crates of assorted supplies.

"I noticed that when we were traveling through the tunnel. It was pretty far ahead, but there was some light leaking through and I could see the equipment. It's the tunnel we came through, for sure—whether or not it leads to the temple, I cannot say."

"This is the way we got here?" I asked her.

"Yes—same tunnel, but this might be the entrance to the militant's mine into the temple. The picks and digging gear gave me that clue."

There was more slamming against the door, and the wood began to creak and splinter. Once the door broke, it would only be seconds before the raspers knocked the desk out of the way and spilled into the house.

"So, how do we reach—"

"Basement," Shadow said breathlessly, pointing to a downward-spiraling staircase in the back of the house. We pushed past cluttered furniture and abandoned suitcases and rushed down the stairs one by one; Tala pulled the door shut behind us, just to buy us a few more seconds.

The entire cellar had been retrofitted into a temporary mining base by the militants who had been here; the entire basement was devoid of a human presence, but there were crates of TNT, racks full of pickaxes and shovels, and unlit torches piled everywhere. There was an entrance to the main tunnel, as well as a crude burrow parallel to it, dug into the house's foundation wall.

"I don't think this is safe…I've got a bad feeling about it," Miguel said warily, eyeing the dark corridor dug into sod and sandstone. There was an explosion up above; more than just a door breaking down. By the sounds of it, the entire wall had been destroyed.

"Well, either take the main tunnel back, or take this one. It's your choice—"

The basement door was now suffering from an onslaught; Tala was dead set on heading for the temple, and I seemed to be the only one who wanted to join her.

"Miguel, take Celine then—"

"I'm coming with you, Leon."

Celine stepped to my side, leaving Shadow and Miguel to head back the other way.

"I'll take him back to base and let Sergeant Greenwell know what happened over here," Shadow said before taking Miguel and disappearing into the darkness of the main tunnel. As the upstairs door broke open, Celine, Tala and I disappeared into our own shadows, down the dark burrow that led us away from the brightly lit mining base.

Our pursuers would be confused by our sudden disappearance; although I was certain that they'd eventually locate us. Their sense of smell was stronger than I had assumed, and they were led by one of the actual Withers. Luckily, it had for some reason stayed behind the raspers during the fighting; the king sent the pawns in first, before coming into the fight himself.

The tunnel didn't go on too far; it was only about a thousand feet before we reached a sloped ramp leading up to a well-lit area. Knowledgeable about our pursuers, we decided the best course of action would be to get up into this area and hold off the tunnel from our defensive point. All three of us jockeyed for a position at the top, as the raspers' shrieks and cries echoed behind us…

We were in the temple, definitely; the tunnel had burrowed directly into the glazed sandstone floor of the oracle, leaving an ugly, cancerous hole in the otherwise impeccably clean plaza. The entire room had to be at least two-hundred by eighty feet, with two master staircases leading up to a second floor balcony at the very back of the building. The two main doors were sealed, facing south; and at the back, there were two other doors that led to another part of the building.

In the center of the temple was the most interesting object, by far; there on a dais, raised above the floor, was some sort of block; it was mostly gray and black, very ugly looking, and it gave off some sort of strange black smoke. Upon closer inspection, there was a tiny rod-shaped slot at the top, but nothing had been fitted inside of it.

"So this is it, then…"

"Leon, I'm collapsing the tunnel!"

I was caught up in examining the curious stone in the center of the room; Tala caught me off guard, and before I could respond, the explosion temporarily deafened me, and the force of the blast knocked me to the tile floor.

It was a relatively small explosion, and well-controlled; there was a smoldering crater in the floor, and the corridor that we had just exited was now collapsed with dirt and bits of shattered tile. The raspers were now at a dead end, but I still didn't feel completely safe inside the temple. Nevertheless, we had stopped them for a short period of time.

"I wish you would've warned me…"

"There wasn't enough time," Tala argued as Celine shook her head violently. "I could see some of them coming for us—another few seconds and it would've been too late."

"How did you do it?"

"Plastic explosives," she said offhandedly, kicking aside a chunk of blasted sandstone. "I had some with me, and I figured that someday they would be useful."

"Well, it was a good thing you used them. Celine, are you alright?"

"Can't…really hear…" she struggled, trying to rip off part of her sleeve. She had been wounded in some way, and there was blood trickling down her arm. Using a combat knife, she slashed the sleeve open at her shoulder and revealed a small laceration right above her triceps.

"It's not much," I commented, noticing the relative lack of blood. "We'll just patch it up—"

"You're bleeding pretty badly, Leon," she said concernedly. "It's a lot worse than mine…your thigh…"

I realized once more that I had a chunk of sandstone lodged in my thigh; if it were pulled out incorrectly, the hemorrhaging would be far worse. As a medic, Celine patched herself up lightly and then came to my aid, while Tala inspected the area.

"You should've…told me about this," Celine seethed, taking what little medical gear she had and tossing it haphazardly on the ground.

"We didn't have time to take care of it earlier, remember?"

"Well, I wish we had it. You've lost a decent amount of blood, and I can't really patch this up until we get you to a triage unit."

"Just do what you can, then," I sighed, flat on my back facing the main doors. Dust lingered in the air from the blast; I wondered how long it would be before the Wither, realizing that we had escaped to the temple, would attempt to besiege us. I doubt he would let us escape alive; but one thing perplexed me here.

Why DID the Wither attack the entire militant garrison? It was included in the pacification zone, the imaginary ring that spread out from the temple where Withers and raspers were completely, utterly passive.

They had never done this before, this close to the temple; was something missing, something wrong? If whatever was causing this anomaly had ceased to be, then we would soon fall against the onslaught of Withers.

There was gunfire outside, muffled but audible. It seemed to come from all sides of the temple, the roaring of a hundred different firearms.

"OW, goddamnit—"

"Sorry, sorry…had to pull that out, you know," Celine muttered angrily, focused on caring for my wound. She had gently pulled the sharp sandstone shrapnel out of my thigh, but it still hurt when the object exited. Blood flowed freely now, and I was beginning to feel woozy.

"How much have I lost?"

"I don't know, Leon," she snapped irritably. "More than you should have. I should've patched this up earlier…"

"Well, we didn't have—"

"I know we didn't have time!"

I was taken aback when she yelled, and decided that silence would serve me best. I lay on the floor, wincing as she cleaned the wound with burning alcohol and bandaged it to her best ability.

"That should hold you over for a little while," she said when she was finished. "The sooner we get out of here and back to friendly territory, the better."

"There doesn't seem to be any exit," Tala called to us as she came back. "Both sets of doors won't budge, even from the inside. I fear we're trapped in here, for the time being—"

"Shit, just what we needed," I cursed, scrambling to get up again, despite Celine's pleas for me to rest for a few minutes. "We can't rest now—the doors might not budge, but those walls aren't invincible. The Wither will eventually find a way in here."

"Not too optimistic there, are we?"

"Something's amiss here…they never aggro this close to the temple, it's been proven already—so something's missing, something is wrong. Otherwise they wouldn't have attacked the garrison over there."

Tala nodded.

"You make a good point. As much as I'd hate to, we need to poke around here—I'll see if there's a way up to the roof, fire a flare up and let somebody know we're stranded here…"

"Alright. Celine, you with me?"

"Yeah, I guess…"

Tala was gone before I even realized; like a shadow, she had vaporized and headed off somewhere. We went up to the second floor balcony, looking for some way out or up; it was just that, a balcony, though. There were two doors, only small, and no rooms attached. There was a stairwell up to the roof, the one that Tala had gone up through.

"Keep an eye out for anyone—remember, militia held this place down a couple days ago…"

"Not too many of them though. It doesn't look like the place has been heavily occupied," Celine said as I eased one of the doors open.

The other side of the temple, divided by a wall and a main set of doors, was almost exactly like the one we had just entered into. The only difference was there was no raised dais in the center of the floor, and there was no exit door here, just a sheer wall at the end of the chamber. However, the balcony wound its way around the perimeter of the room, and on one side there were a number of doors.

"Never looked this expansive from the outside, did it?" I mused nonchalantly. Celine, as adventurous as she was, wasn't apt to checking every single door.

"They might be booby trapped," she excused herself weakly. The doors showed no signs of use or disuse; rather, the entire complex seemed to be completely abandoned, which came as some surprise. Where were the militants who had occupied this building? They had been here yesterday…

"Where the hell are these guys?" Celine asked, staring around the room. I ventured to open one of the doors, and regretted it almost immediately.

"Oh Notch…I think I found them," I gagged, turning away from the rotting smell from inside. The militant bodies had just started to decay; by the looks of them, they had been shut up inside the tiny storage space for at least three days, maybe even more. Celine, clamping her nostrils tight, approached the doorway and looked inside.

"Dead alright…"

"Yeah, no kidding. Smells terrible," I scowled, limping away from the room as pain arced up my leg again.

"They've all got gunshot wounds to the head…were they all executed?

"Likely. But the wounds are at the wrong angle, it looks more like a suicide," I pointed out, as three gunshots roared closer than all the others. They sounded like they came from inside the building…

"That was too close for comfort…down below…"

Without another word, Celine dashed off to the one set of doors that led even lower; there were two small doors in an alcove at the floor, a small set of stairs leading down to them. It was the only room that was lower than the floor of the building, as far as I could see.

"No, Celine—WAIT! Damnit!"

I was down the stairs right behind her, as another gunshot rang out. It was loud, something like a heavy pistol or shotgun; possibly a sniper rifle, but unlikely, since the previous gunshots had been pretty rapid-fire…

Without a problem, Celine threw the doors open, admitting us into a long antechamber about ten feet beneath the main chamber. At the end was another pair of doors; I wanted to shout out to her, tell her to stop, but it was too late.

She threw the doors open, admitting us onto a scene that I would likely never see again.

xXXXXXXXXXXXXXx

There were four of them, and eight of the enemy, not including the Ocelot light tank sitting in the middle of the camp. The odds were pretty even…

_Eight men and a tank guarding this intel? Are the Loyalists even trying anymore?_

The man with the Krieg 552 assault rifle sat in the shadows along with his comrades, one of them armed with a tracking dart and RPG, and the other with a heavy LMG. As soon as the sniper radioed in, the operation would be set to go…

"Think this is one big trap? Think they're waiting for us?"

"Couldn't say…it's not like the Loyalists to leave something so valuable unguarded. They're always really cautious…"

The suitcase in the command tent was packed full of data, but the one thing that the team was going after was ten times more important than everything else. Worth some of the most elite blood of the Secessionist forces…

"I've got you covered. Ten seconds," the sniper's voice radioed in. Loud enough for the three to hear it, but quiet enough to be inaudible to the Loyalists, who couldn't hear it over the loud winds of the Mellifluous Dunes.

"Go in…I've got t-shirt, you get the other two. Sniper's got combat suit, and the tank's already a goner."

The man with the Krieg moved into position, aiming at the crewman in the t-shirt. It was apparel for one of the most popular bands back before the apocalypse, Argentum and the Silverfish; every single one of their members had worn silver scales over their clothes, and had attracted a large following that had done the same. He had never enjoyed them.

"Two…one…"

One of the men's heads exploded in a shower of blood; the LMG burst out, gunning down two of the soldiers while the man with the Krieg popped off two straight rounds, taking down his target. The tank already had the tracking beacon on it; the RPG roared, the missile rose up into the air, spiraled downward, and hit the vehicle before its gunner could even figure out what was going on. The armor exploded into flames, spewing out black smoke as the fuel tank caught fire and burned violently.

"Patrol car, incoming! It's loaded—"

"Pop the satchels. We're moving in," the man said in response to the sniper, shouldering his Krieg and stepping into the open command tent. The suitcase was just sitting there on the table, unguarded…in the distance, there was a single explosion as the satchel charges on the makeshift road exploded, taking out the patrol jeep that was headed to the camp.

_Could it really be this easy?_

"Alright, we've got the intel…

"TANKS!" At least ten of them, coming down the road—APCs, loaded with troops, there's a hell of a—"

The line cut off at that moment; the trap was being sprung, the mouse had fallen into the bait…

"Captain? Looks like they expected this—"

The other two commandos were uneasy, but the Krieg handling captain knew what to do next. Withdrawing a small blinking platinum chip from his backpack, he turned a switch on and buried the chip beneath about an inch of sand. The chip was blinking now as she covered it with the grainy bits of sand.

_All they have to wait for is the rain to come…_

"Let's get a move on, gentlemen. We don't want to be here when the party starts."

The three men proceeded to return back into the desert, leaving the camp just as the first tanks rolled off the road and down into the center of the base. All they would find were dead men, a burning vehicle, and a nasty surprise left for them.

_They just left it there, and thought that their trap would work. Well, now we've got what we want…and the Loyalists are going to be begging for peace soon enough…_

The commando leader, vanishing back into the Mellifluous Dunes, away from the distant lights of Terra Nova, couldn't help but smirk nastily as the lone jet roared overhead, the lights dropped from the sky, and the camp ceased to exist as the rain came down.


	40. The Secrets of Adelina

**Hi all! I'm back from an overly long, and unfortunately not too refreshing break. Some of you probably know about that, but the details should remain with me and those few people. So, onward to other business.**

**I'd like to give a shout-out to ShadowAaron34 this time around, for being a great Heavy to my Medic. Nobody else will know what I'm talking about, but I don't care—this is his personal shout-out, even though we didn't win the match -_-**

**REVIEWS: **

**HPE24: Yeah, tears on pizza probably wouldn't taste very good. Sausage and mushroom is WAAAAY better. And I referenced you more, so you should be EVEN happier now :)**

**PigeonFligher: I know, it's utterly brilliant! Her skills are quite honestly incredible, and I love what she's done here, and I am in her debt now.**

**Stranger doors are strange, and caramel is the last thing you'd find behind them. Don't trust those doors…well, the raspers aren't gone yet. And that line break section will be important soon ;)**

**TerrarianCreeper: And you sir would be correct about the Nether Star. More about it coming up…**

**And no, I'm not a brony. What made you think that, just curious? I'm not angry or insulted, but I'm just curious.**

**Ptrip3: Yep, cliffhangers happen. I hate them as much as you do, but they exist for a purpose…**

**And no reviews for guests. Sorry, random guess who randomly typed "FG". If you prove to me that you have a mastery over the rest of the English alphabet, I will gladly reply to you.**

**xXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXx**

Staring at me from the inside of the small chamber was the most interesting creature I had ever seen in my entire life; it was bipedal, and humanoid, but its head was rounded and smooth, almost like a cone, and the nose was three times larger than a normal man's. It was elongated, flopping down over the puffy, bloodied lips of whatever lay against the wall, pressing its hands against one of three bullet wounds that it had suffered. Another one lay against the opposite wall, dead with a gunshot wound to the head; a single pistol, a tactical handgun, was sitting in the middle of the floor, along with four shell casings.

"Take…take it…"

The thing was speaking to me in English, its long brown robes stained with dark blood. A shaking, wavering arm raised and pointed to the far side of the room; there, in a tiny glass compartment, sat the most curious object I had ever laid eyes upon. It was a start, a gleaming, glittering beacon of some sort of foreign energy whose origins escaped me. It was a beautiful object, glittering like a bioluminescent creature, stored tightly away inside a safe jammed into the wall. The safe was open, but the glass case within had not been shattered.

"Take…the star…put it where the other one was…"

"Put it…where?"

I had an idea of where it wanted me to put the star, which was still glowing hazily in its glass coffin. The dais seemed like the most likely place to put it; however, it wouldn't fit into the circular slot.

"Take these…too…"

Whatever it was, it was on the brink of death; blood poured out, bright and glistening, from the wounds, staining the dark maroon robes. The humanoid handed me something that I recognized as a blaze rod, and a crumpled piece of paper with writing all over it, some of it scribbled out randomly.

"What is—"

"There's no time, human. Replace the Nether Star, or they will not stop…"

"I still don't—"

"There is no time—do it, before it is too late!"

The humanoid could no longer muster enough strength to speak, and began to convulse unwillingly, gripping the wounds tightly as if trying to stem the flow of blood. Before he expired, he pulled a lever high up on the wall, barely able to grasp the handle and bring it down.

The wall we were facing opened up completely; the stones slid to the side, revealing four massive automatons sitting, silent and sentinel, in four unique pods. Each one of them came to life, their blank, lifeless eyes lighting up like machines, creaking and cranking up like some giant machination.

"They know…what to do…you just need to get…the rod in first, and then…the Star…"

The humanoid could no longer speak; it expired, a massive crimson pool of blood formed beneath its body. The automatons were waking now, made completely out of solid iron, their structures clad in even more armor. They walked out, single-file, up the stairway and into the secondary chamber. Each step they took reverberated off of the floor, their heavy iron feet slamming down onto the tile and in some cases even making an imprint.

"Leon, the star! You heard what she…er, he…it said!"

"Right, right…"

I had no idea what the star was; it was indeed a star, the stereotypical shape of one, but it didn't feel like any ordinary object. It was like the blaze rod or an ender pearl; there was something about it that was unusual, extraordinary, and it felt incredibly light in my hands despite the bulky frame.

I rushed up the stairs after the dilatory, absent-minded creatures, who were heading for the main door. I had no idea what was going on outside, but a number of sharp cracks and blows on the temple's front door gave me some idea of the chaos outside. Tala had not returned yet; I prayed that she had not encountered any trouble on the roof, either with the Withers, militants or Loyalists.

"Leon, read that note, see if it will do us any good," Celine said, running up to the empty dais and inserting the blaze rod inside. The altar began to glow faintly, a warm, fiery glow that began to grow stronger as the seconds passed and the beating on the door grew in intensity.

I fumbled with the slip of paper, which had a few scattered droplets of blood on it. The writing was messy and scrawled all over, but I could make it out with some difficulty:

_I know that you're here, and don't ask how. I just know. He shot me because he felt that I threatened our future—it is a heinous act to bring technology such as a "boom object", what our people refer to it as, inside such a sanctified place. We fought, I took the gun, and shot him dead, but my time is limited, so I must act quickly._

_He took the Nether Star and broke it—said that strangers must leave Adelina, they do not belong here. You will be overrun with Withers if you do not put the backup in place—it will take about five minutes for it to warm up before its effects take hold. The iron golems will do their part to protect this sanctified ground—if they cannot, then Notch help us all._

There was no signature, only writing trailing off.

_So this was what pacified the Withers…this Nether Star…_

"Does it say anything, Leon?" Celine asked, exasperated, holding the Nether Star precariously, as if afraid to do something wrong.

"It…doesn't say how to get it in there, it just says put the backup in place—"

I desperately reread the note, trying to find out how to replace the Nether Star; the dying creature had said nothing on the subject, only told us to do so. There was a massive explosion at the door, and parts of the wood shattered and burst, revealing scabby hands and claws reaching voraciously inside.

"There's a hole on the bottom here, Leon—"

"See if the blaze rod fits in there! Put the Star on the blaze rod!"

The iron golems were ready, standing in front of the door, their metal fists raised and their bodies prepared for combat. The doors would bust open any second now, and we didn't even have the Star in place…

The Nether artifact slotted perfectly onto the rod, and began to spin slowly, silently, gathering speed with each passing second…

And the door exploded into chunks of wood, splinters and iron, the remains crashing down onto the sandstone floor with a hideous din. The raspers, shrieking and roaring, poured inside like a wave of army ants, fixated on the golems. The golems responded appropriately; their massive fists broke flesh and bone, smashing through the horde like a sword through cloth. Rasper bodies, broken and twisted, flew high into the air, propelled by the massive fists of the automatons who were now fighting for their survival; but still more poured in, and some of them passed the giants and came for us.

Celine and I took cover by the altar and aimed for the heads of the raspers, putting them down with much difficulty. Twice I had to throw one of them back with my rifle before gunning him down; they advanced quickly, their speed matching that of a charging bull.

It was a most opportune time for Tala to appear up on the balcony; as soon as she saw the tide of raspers, and the Withers falling back, she opened fire on the nearest ghouls, her shots accurate and powerful, taking down each rasper in one or two hits.

"TALA!"

"I sent up a flare, we've got help incoming—"

"They won't get here anytime soon!" I yelled up at her. If this defensive system were down, every single rasper and Wither in Adelina would be rushing towards the nearest human being; every single border sector would come under attack by the ghouls, and I was sure that Carstone was having a hell of a time coordinating defenses. There was gunfire everywhere; not just from inside the temple, but everywhere outside too. Adelina had just taken a nosedive into the very depths of hell.

The raspers were easy victims for the iron golems, who made short work of their smaller opponents; however, when one of the Withers showed up at the door, its necks craning over the horde of raspers, its eyes blazing with white fury, I knew that we wouldn't last much longer.

"Celine, get down behind something—"

The Wither roared and fired, each mouth firing a distinctly black, smoky projectile at the speed of an actual missile. They all missed us, but the damage they did to the temple was incredible; Tala had to leap off the balcony before it exploded in a blast of black smoke, the other two hit parts of the wall, showering us with minute pieces of destroyed masonry.

The iron golems perceived this new threat almost instantaneously, but they were literally drowning in a sea of raspers; the ghouls clambered over the ironworks, clawing and biting at the metal with no effect. Although individually they were useless, in large numbers they had the golems pinned down under the sheer weight of dozens of raspers.

"We don't stand a damn chance against that Wither," Celine remarked, hiding behind the dais. I knew that we couldn't stay here; if the Nether Star was destroyed, there was no way we'd hold the town—the raspers would overrun our defenses, given enough time. We had to buy time, hope that the Nether Star activated soon…

"Celine, we need to run—"

"I'm right behind you, then," she exclaimed as the Wither prepared to fire off another round. It was floating idly behind the mass of raspers, protected from most bullets and damage by a shield of its own minions, who were swarming over the golems now.

We dashed out from cover as the Wither tracked us, firing three more bolts. He was well ahead of us; as we ran, I had to grab Celine by the nape of her neck and haul her out of the way as part of the stairs exploded. The Wither had tried to take out our escape route; luckily, his targeting was slightly off, and a portion of the stairwell was still intact. Tala came sprinting after us, pursued by several raspers who had broken off from the main body. She fired back at them, and dropped two of the four.

"The roof is the last place for us!" I called back at Tala as we shimmied up the narrow stairs, heading for the damaged balcony.

"There's no way down—"

"It's better than sitting here!"

We needed to get out of the Wither's line of sight; the iron golems were being overrun, and if the dais was destroyed, we had no hope. It wasn't intelligent to aim for the Nether Star, apparently; several times it had the chance to attack it, but it chose not to, instead attacking us. Apparently it didn't perceive the star to be a threat, not yet at least.

We fled up the tower and onto the roof of the temple. It gave us a bird's eye view of Adelina, and the chaos that had consumed it.

On all sides, minute figures fought one another, firing off spurts of bullets and taking cover behind anything they could find. I watched three Loyalists soldiers dash out of cover to the north side of the temple, only to be gunned down by an allied machine gun. One of the farther northern sectors was being overrun by Loyalist soldiers, who were trooping into the neighborhood by the hundreds. Raspers swarmed everywhere, easy targets for snipers and machine gunners but threatening to overrun every perimeter they assailed. The entire scene was chaos, and it took only one tiny catalyst to turn the stalemate into someone's victory.

And we could be that catalyst…

"We're trapped now, Leon—"

The only way we could escape was to hope we landed in one of the trees if we jumped. Tala was right; the roof had no ladders, no ways to access the ground level. Even if we somehow managed to get down, we would end up in the middle of a warzone.

"You sent up a flare, right?"

"Two minutes ago, but they could be forever getting here," Tala said, exasperated. She ran over to the ladder hatch that led up to the roof, and moved one of the pieces of furniture in the watch tower over it, closing up the entryway.

"That should keep them out…"

"Not for long," I said, watching the battle play out below.

"It's some time. We've got to hope that rescue arrives soon—"

The only thing we could do was watch the battle play out like a movie, the moments feeling like hours. I couldn't see our sector, it was obscured by the oak trees; I prayed that Miguel and Shadow had made it back alive, and that our line against the raspers was still holding strong.

Paladin tanks were rolling down the main north-south street of Adelina, followed by APCs loaded with troops. They weren't heading for our sectors; I knew they were reinforcing the areas beset by Withers, ones that wouldn't hold without reinforcements.

The large piece of furniture blocking the ladder entryway was now being attacked from below; raspers were beating on it, trying to get up to us. I hoped that they had not targeted the dais…if the Nether Star were to be destroyed, there was no way we'd hold…

"Leon! Helicopter!"

Celine pointed out the tiny blip on the western horizon, a small black object approaching us quickly. It was our salvation on wings; we could finally escape this blasted roof, get back to friendly territory…

I thought that something—either a SAM or an enemy aircraft—would take out our rescue chopper, but it hovered right in front of us, safe and sound as we boarded. There was nobody but the pilot inside; he had been sent alone to rescue us.

"Somebody saw your flare, thank Notch…"

"Is it just you in here?!" I yelled at him above the furious roaring of the chopper blades. The helicopter banked sharply right, pulling away from the temple right as the hatchway burst open and raspers poured out of it.

"It's just me—unfortunately, I have no gunner, and I could use one. Care to do the honors?"

"More than happy," I replied. I took a seat at one of the miniguns lining the bank of the helicopter as we pulled away, flying over the oak trees and houses.

"We're doing one run, and then I've got to get you back to Carstone—gotta take care of some of these ghouls—"

The raspers swarmed everywhere below, led by one Wither—they were assaulting our sector mostly, as it was the closest one to them, and it took the brunt of the attack. The lines seemed to be holding out well—raspers were piling up in the streets—but the Wither would pose a problem for them.

"Take out that floating bastard, the one with the three heads…he'll absorb a lot of bullets, but I think this'll do him in…"

The pilot was barely audible as we banked over the horde of raspers. I aimed the massive mounted gun at the only Wither in sight, and held the trigger down.

The minigun erupted in a blaze of fire, pouring out hundreds of rounds at its target. Raspers caught in the crossfire were shredded like fruit in a blender; even the Wither, as powerful as it was, was beset by the mind-numbing barrage, its skeletal body beaten and busted by the mass of shells striking it.

Although it took a hell of a lot of pain, the monster finally went down in a blaze of fire. The barrage was too much; it crumpled and fell, the three heads desperately trying to get a bead on their target. They didn't fire a single shot; the minigun, at such a close range, had the Wither crippled, and it collapsed to the hard pavement, as the remaining bullets struck any raspers unlucky enough to be close to the dead fiend.

"Damn straight…now that's a pretty sight to see," the pilot commented as we turned around, banking over the mass of raspers.

As we turned, something happened. An invisible wave of energy seemed to radiate through the air—there was nothing tangible, but I could feel it. The entire horde stopped in their tracks; they became motionless, completely passive, even those who were being struck by bullets. Soon enough, the gunfire from our sector stopped; the men had stopped firing, the raspers had stopped attacking, the Nether Star had worked…

"Well I'll be damned…there they go again…" the pilot muttered.

"It worked, thank Notch it worked," Celine whispered under her breath, watching the raspers disappear as we headed back to home base.

We arrived at the main base in no time; the helicopter landed and let us off without powering down. The pilot saluted me as I departed, before taking off once more and heading back towards the front line. We were immediately greeted by Carstone, who led us into the main tent with some bad news.

"Communications with Cardinal's Point are down. We're not sure why, but we suspect it's come under attack. So we're on our own for now," he filled me in.

"So, what—"

"Our northern sectors are failing, Leon. Loyalists are swarming in by the hundreds, supported by armor and mortars. If we don't hold the northern part of Adelina, our entire operation will be compromised."

"You mean Adelina's defenses? Don't the perimeter sectors have buffers to fall back on? If the Loyalists keep pushing, we'll envelope them eventually…"

"I know. It's something else. We set up a communications depot close to the frontlines a few days back, and it's currently surrounded by Loyalist forces attacking our other command posts. The secure data stored at that depot is key to the survival of our nation—whatever we have there, needs to stay out of Loyalist hands."

The topographical map, a key feature of all of our bases, was marked with hundreds of arrows, dots and small scribbles. Carstone put his finger on a small area that said "Power Station".

"Adelina's local power station?"

"Seemed like the best place to set up something so vital to our war effort," Carstone explained. "They're besieged, currently, and holding out well, but they'll never last. I'm giving you anything you need, Captain—infantry, armor, even air support if it's necessary. Take that power station back, and kill as many Loyalists as you can. Show no mercy."

xXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXx

The interior of the tank was swelteringly hot, but at least I was able to pop my head out of the top and man the machine gun.

The fresh air was welcome as we drove down the main avenue towards the temple, a column of heavy tanks and troop carriers moving through the dusty streets of Adelina, a spearhead of armor. Celine and Tala were behind at base; Celine needed to be treated for injuries, and Tala was required back at Lance's CP for special operations.

My job was to punch a hole in the Loyalists' southern flank before relieving the besieged power station. We, our battalion, would face heavy resistance, and almost certainly face a Loyalist counterattack, but at least the Withers were pacified, for now. I prayed that the Nether Star, for all it was worth, would not fail or break somehow.

"Captain, you might want to get back down here—"

From below, one of the crewmen called down to me; I dropped back into the heated body of the tank, expecting bad news. However, I was simply being replaced as gunner.

"We need you down here rather than up there. One of the gunnery boys can handle the MG," the driver explained.

"I thought you had news for me…you sounded concerned."

"Not at all. We just need you down here for direction, sir," the driver spoke, focusing on bringing the tank through the temple plaza and up on North Main St.

I took the place of the gunner as the cannoneer of the tank; I controlled the heavy main cannon, a massive piece of work that would spit out a 4-lb shell capable of smashing through walls and bringing down small buildings in a single shot. I watched the green-screen anxiously, watching as buildings and power poles passed, waiting for some movement.

"Way ahead looks clear, Captain—"

The driver had spoken too soon; from out of one of the side alleys a Paladin emerged, decked out in the heaviest armor possible. We nearly ran into it as it turned around, bringing the main cannon around to face our tank. The entire armored column stopped behind us; the Paladin was blocking our route forward.

"Goddamnit, fucking Loyalists and their tanks—Captain, hit it!"

I fired off the first shell, which was little more than fireworks to the Paladin; the round hit the armor, but did little other than explode in a smoky mess and dent the armor. When the Paladin launched its first shell, our frontal armor was crippled, and the fetid smell of charred metal filled the interior.

"We've got a fire in some of the electrical components," the secondary gunner told us, scanning the damage logs for the tank. "Our forward engine's burning, we won't be able to move pretty soon—"

"Someone reload that main gun and fire!" the driver seethed, pushing the tank forward. We rammed into the Paladin, and surprisingly we began to push it back down the street. Behind us, the tanks and trucks were caught in a logjam, confused and disoriented as the line suddenly came to a halt. Another shell went into our main gun, and as we pushed the Paladin into the side of a house, I fired again.

The shell, thanks to our angle against the enemy tank, slipped right inbetween the heavy armor and smashed into the vulnerable interior of the tank. Smoke and fire burst from several areas, and the Paladin suddenly screeched to a halt, a horrible sound of grinding gears and sparks coming from inside.

Three men clambered out of the tank, coughing and retching and falling over the side. My shell had gone in perfectly; slipped right through a chink in the heavy plating and critically damaged the enemy vehicle. The gunner did not fire; as I forced myself up out of the tank, rising on top of it, I saw the three men stand in front of our vehicle, their arms raised in surrender.

Two of the men from the APC behind us disembarked and took the crewman captive, leading them back to the APC. The driver of our lead tank began to push forward once more, smashing past the burning wreckage of the Paladin and leading the convoy once more.

"Nice shot there, Captain—"

"They were just waiting for us there. They should've brought more tanks," I said bleakly, realizing how close we came to failure.

"Well, you killed it. Your shot was perfect—"

"I got lucky."

"Better than being unlucky. At least one's out of the way—if we come across more, then we'll have to pray that we have the same kind of luck…"

Our armored column roared up the street; eventually, once we reached the outskirts of town, we would be able to fan out in the wider space before assaulting the power plant. Once, before we reached the outer areas, our tank came across two troop transports crossing an intersection. I fired before even realizing that they were unarmed; the first one exploded with a blast unfitting of that of a small transport. It rose in a ball of flame, a sheet of bright fire that dissipated very quickly and brightly. It might have been carrying fuel…

The second truck stopped short and its drivers stepped out, their hands raised in the air in surrender. Out machine gunner pulled himself up out of the hatch, along with several men from the APC behind us. A moment passed before our gunner returned and beckoned for me.

"You'll want to see this, Captain…"

"Take them prisoner, we need to get going—"

"No, sir. You'll _definitely _want to see this."

Disgruntled, I hauled myself up out of the stuffy body of the tank and approached the last truck remaining. It seemed to be on its own; the crewmen stood in front of the engine, their arms held above their heads.

"Open the back—"

"No! No! Don't open it, don't listen to him—"

"What's inside?" I snapped, about to give the order for the hatch to be opened.

"Creepers…we've got a dozen in there, we were moving them west—"

The man seemed terrified, as if this had been a secret he was to hold until death; however, I was relieved that he had warned me before I rashly opened the back hatch. Massive amounts of dangerous explosives were one thing; dangerous explosives with legs and a nasty attitude were another.

"Captain?"

"Secure these men and that truck. We could definitely use that cargo, even with the risk it brings…"

There was a risk that we were running, taking a cargo hold full of creepers into a battlefield; if a single rocket were to detonate inside the hold, the entire group would explode in a massive fireball. That must have been the reason why the other transport truck exploded with such force.

As soon as the truck was secured and in the convoy, we rolled out once more. My orders were to conceal the vehicle until we had taken out any dangerous opponents, and then drive it in and use the automatic release system to deliver our deadly, quadrupedal payload.

Each tank fanned out in a short line, consisting of eight heavy tanks in the center and two lighter, faster vehicles on the flanks to cover us. The power station lay dead ahead of us as we pushed forward, the APCs and other armored vehicles following closely behind. We would encounter resistance any minute…

The machine gun on top of the tank began to roar, pouring fire on targets I could not see. I relied on the firing screen to see who we were shooting at; the thermal optics detected dozens of small figures up ahead, glowing a blistering white in the thermal signature detection system. It allowed me to choose my targets at will; I rotated the main cannon to whatever angle necessary, pressed a single button, and fired at the target. The white figures rose up in the air before disappearing, their heat signatures cut off as soon as their heart stopped beating, riddled with shrapnel and canister shells.

The coaxial gun, mounted on the side of the main cannon, belched as I used it to hit infantry targets either running or attempting to take cover. From the looks of what was happening on the thermal screen, the Loyalist defenses were being pounded by our armored assault. They had not expected their offensive to be cut in half by a lightning-fast onslaught. The infantry forces defending the power station were cut down by the other tanks; it was only when the two Paladins emerged from their hiding places within the industrial yard that I began to panic.

Their heat signatures were muted, but visible, and I could detect their outlines.

"Shit, Paladins, take them out first! Don't worry about the stragglers, the little gun's got 'em—"

The driver was desperately turning us sideways, trying to evade the shell that roared out of the Paladin's main gun. It missed us by a hair, but the tank to our left was not so lucky; it was at the perfect angle, and received the shell right to its track, destroying the track and setting fire to its vulnerable underside.

I pulled the trigger and fired, but the shell did no good; it hit the armored shield of the enemy Paladin, and became the equivalent of a $10,000 firework: a bunch of smoke and show, but no damage done. Now, the beast turned its attention to us, and I braced for impact as the shell flew towards our position.

The impact was jarring and shocking; the screech of metal on metal and the twisting of steel was earsplitting, and I was half deafened as the alarms inside the tank whined and smoke began to pour out of every vent. Had the driver not hauled me out of that deathtrap, I would have suffocated in the smoke; but I felt myself being pulled out of the hatch and flung over the side onto the hard-packed dirt, coughing and choking on bile.

Our tank was a smoldering, burning ruin now, just like the other one. It had already sustained damage from our previous engagement; now, it was useless.

"Captain, we need orders—we won't stand much chance against those Paladins—"

Another tank, the light one on our left flank, exploded into fire as it tried to cross the field, attempting to dodge the enemy shells. It did not work; the entire crew had been killed in one hit, the armor too light to absorb such an impact.

"Get the men disembarked, have the tanks cover the transports—abandon the creepers, they'll do more harm than good!"

Loads of troops began to disembark from each transport, a mix of untrained militiamen and hardcore shock troopers.

Then, a dozen things happened all at once.

One of the Paladins exploded, as two helicopters raced over, their engines roaring as they swerved overhead, dodging flak fire from some nearby neighborhood. A swarm of Loyalist soldiers, a vast melting pot of men racing out of the power station with all different kinds of weapons. My men rushed out to greet them, throwing caution and cover to the wind.

Dozens of rifles went off at once; dozens of men, young and old, brave and cowardly, handsome and ugly, hateful and sympathetic, were killed in cold blood by the tiny lead shells that slashed through the air like knives. Armor was pierced, flesh was broken, blood spurted and pooled and gushed from open wounds like dark red ink, men toppling over each other and trampling each other in a rush to reach the enemy.

What happened next was nearly indescribable; each side threw down their weapons and ran at each other, armed with knives or their own fists. Some of them kept their guns and used them as clubs, bashing at their foes as the melee began. The Paladin crew abandoned their tank and rushed to join the fight; they could've easily murdered dozens of my soldiers with a single round, but for some reason they left the safe haven of their armored machine and joined the intense melee in the industrial yard.

I wasn't sure what to make of it all; what should've been a firefight had devolved into the most brutal form of hand-to-hand combat, something I had never seen the likes of. It was like ancient times all over again…the legends told of three Heroes, one from each mythical Dimension, who fought off armies of monsters armed only with swords. They were legends now, having defeated the mythical Creeper King and his army, but I could only imagine that their fighting looked something like the scrap that happened before me.

Bullets bounced off of the tank nearest to us, and I realized that there were more Loyalists now, from the left side; the remaining troops I ordered into cover, fleeing into the industrial yard, while the rest of the tanks either pounded the abandoned Paladin into ruin or faced our new attackers.

Machine gun fire echoed across the courtyard as my crewmen and two other soldiers slid into cover behind a massive cargo crate. The melee had wound down now, and now soldiers from both sides were engaged in their own firefight, shooting from behind cover and treating the wounded while hunkered down in safe places.

"Alright Captain, the heat's on now—"

"Unleash those creepers! Send them into the courtyard!"

The Loyalists had broken off their melee and entrenched themselves into a security station, where they had excellent firing positions. I watched two of our greenhorns go down in spurts of blood as they tried to run out of cover, and a third man cut down trying to haul their bodies back behind his cargo crate.

"Are you sure—"

"We need them now! Send them in!" He drove the truck himself, and did so without question.

I was glad that my tank driver, also a Sergeant, knew damage control. He knew enough to drive the truck right up to the security station and turn around, as the cargo hatch and passenger's seat were riddled with bullets. As he bailed out, he rushed for cover as a horde of green, four-legged monsters poured out of the back, their red eyes gleaming and seeking the closest targets, which happened to be the security station and a nearby mortar crew setting up shop. Several of the creepers were killed before they reached their destination, but the telltale explosions told me that the rest had done their job well.

"Alright, let's move! Head into the station, try to keep your heads down!" I cried at the men nearest to me, all hardcore elite soldiers. We proceeded out of cover as a distant machine gun belched, cutting apart the dirt at our feet but missing every shot. I personally killed two Loyalist soldiers as I ran for the power station; both of them were armed, and waiting to ambush us, but I cut both of them down simultaneously as I caught them by surprise around the corner of their cargo crate.

The two helicopters flew overhead once more, firing at some targets in the distance. We were like miniscule insects down here, allies who were not to be targeted, only ignored. I wondered if Notch was watching us now, if he was even capable of doing so; wondered if he knew where I was, as I led the other men into the power station and the battle erupted around the perimeter once more. As I shut the door behind me, hoping to lock out the incoming Loyalist reinforcements, the last thing I saw were those helicopters passing over.

xXXXXXXXXXXXXXx

Jeb stalked up the mountainside, wrapping the shawl more closely around him. The four Testificates flanking him were armed to the teeth, leading him up to the monastery atop the highest mountain in all of Minecraftia.

The village was small, but it was what lay inside the mountain that Jeb cared about. He approached the elder only briefly, still flanked by his guards.

"How soon will it be finished?" Jeb asked, shivering from the cold of the summit.

"In a few days. We have suffered setbacks…"

"What kind of setbacks?" Jeb asked with a hint of anger in his query.

"We lost contact with our team in Adelina, and there is apparently a way to pacify the Withers—"

"Pacify them? What the hell do you mean?" Jeb asked the elder angrily.

"I do not know, my Lord," the elder replied quietly. "But it will be completed in due time."

"Well, don't waste any _time_. We don't know how much longer we have."

With that, Jeb stalked out of the village, preparing to return home. His ultimate creation would soon be finished, and Jeb prayed that it would be able to deal with the situation at hand. It would take some damage control, but it could be done.


	41. No Such Thing as Freedom

**This chapter is a bit short, but it's pretty heavy on violence and themes. All the usual, I guess?**

**You still won't figure out what Jeb is up to—not yet, at least ;)**

**Not many reviews this time around :(. But I'll answer the ones I have!**

**HPE24: Yep, I keep on referencing you! It makes the most sense—ancient Users who fought for freedom against mobs? It's the stuff of Minecraft myth, I tell you.**

**Hmm…spoilers, I see. I'll pretend I saw nothing :3**

**PigeonFligher: The Nether Star is a mysterious thing. It only takes five minutes to warm up enough to stop the Withers—its full potential is still unknown. Even I don't know what it would be :3**

**Yep, weird people are weird. Or maybe they just got super violent. You'll find out what Jeb is up to soon!**

**xXXXXXXXXXXXXXx**

I had pretty much lost control of my unit; we were separated, disoriented, and confused. Victory was ours, for the moment; we had taken control of the power station that we so desperately fought for, but we would be cut off in a matter of minutes. Already Loyalist forces were advancing on our position, reinforcing the remnants of the garrison that had been beaten back.

"Where are these guys supposed to be?" my driver, Sergeant of the force, asked as he sealed one of the doors. We had men outside still, holding the courtyard; I prayed that we would meet no resistance inside the building, and be able to abscond with any friendly survivors along with this "crucial intel".

"Somewhere deep down, probably the basement—"

"That doesn't help at all, Captain."

"I know no better than you. The best you can do is look for a floor plan—the building's not too large, it can't be difficult to find them," I suggested, and the Sergeant hurried off with several of his men, leaving me the dozen or so that had come inside with us.

My small squad trooped through dingy, industrial hallways littered with debris and rubbish. There was blood on the floor as well, dark stains in several places, indicative of fighting recently. There was also gunfire farther inside; I was afraid that we were walking into a trap, that the Loyalists were just waiting for us…

They were, to some extent. Really, it was just two civilians armed with old hunting rifles, waiting at the top of a set of stairs as we turned a corner. My reaction time was faster than theirs; both were gunned down before they could fire off a single shot, and I popped in my last magazine after bringing them down. We proceeded carefully down the stairs, edging towards a room marked "UNDERSTORY ENTRANCE". This was the basement…

"Wanna pop a frag in there, captain?" one of the men behind me asked. He wanted to throw a live grenade into the dark room; I shook my head vigorously, knowing that doing so could cause quite a bit of unwanted damage. So I contented myself to literally crawling down the stairs, careful not to make a single unwanted sound. Without any unnecessary movement, I slid the door open, one inch at a time, peering inside…

There was a single man in there, a hostile, dressed just like the ones at the top of the stairs. A greenhorn, a newbie…he didn't even notice me until I stepped on a tiny shard of broken glass. Even then, it took one round into the base of his spine to bring him down, sending him toppling forward and smashing into a pile of broken rubble and scrap metal. Luckily, the tech station was unharmed; the rest of the men filed into the room, weapons raised, listening for any sign of movement.

"It's all clear—"

"We have any techs here? Everything we need is on this station, the crew already put it on here—"

The crew had been slain several minutes ago; their bodies, freshly dead, were stacked in a heap, friendly technical and service people who had been slaughtered when their outpost was overrun. Luckily, the precious data was still intact, and one of our own techs was able to retrieve it in a matter of three minutes.

"It's all secure, sir. I deleted everything else, pretty much trashed the hard drive," the tech reported after those tense minutes.

"Erased any traces?"

"Yes, sir."

I motioned for the rest of them to move out, and we were topside once more in a matter of another minute.

During our short sojourn to recover the valuable intel, we had become surrounded and besieged by a mass of Loyalist armor and infantry. The remaining forces I had were ensconced within the safety of the industrial yard, the tanks in cover behind masses of cargo crates and the infantrymen hunkering down wherever they could. We were good and surrounded; mortars pummeled the yard, flinging chunks of dirt and sod in the clear air wherever they hit. Loyalist infantry were attempting to fight their way into the yard, climbing over the bodies of their fallen comrades that clogged up the gate.

"Can we get airlifted out of here?" I asked my Sergeant, who was equally perplexed as to how we would escape.

"I doubt it, sir…they'll have AAA just waiting for something like that. We're good and stuck—"

"Goddamnit…can we at least get some air _support_?"

I had no idea what I was carrying with me—or rather, what my tech was carrying—but it was so incredibly important that Carstone had been willing to lend us any service we needed. I had assumed that air support was on the list.

"I'll try to get contact set up, it might take a minute—"

A shell exploded in the air above us, sending metal shrapnel down on our entire squad. I fell to the ground, throwing my hands over my neck to cover my exposed head; however, hot metal shards pierced my shoulders and back, and I roared in pain as the fiery blades drove into flesh and muscle. Other soldiers were hit too by the "steel rain"; two of them did not move afterwards.

"Medic! We need a medic over here, for Notch's sake!"

The cries rang out, pain and agony; some soldiers rolled over, clutching at their wounds, and ended up driving the shrapnel deeper as they rolled onto it, screaming in their suffering as the metal blades dug into their skin. Blood was pooling over the dirty ground, mine included; the entire squad, save two people, was on the ground.

"Get up captain, get up—"

My ears were ringing, my vision blurry; I brought my hand from the back of my neck, and realized that it was painted red with my own blood.

"Captain, we need you—"

My sense of duty was overpowering; I realized that I had to get these men back on their feet, and organize a defense before we were overrun. I fought against the pain, no matter how strong it was, and rose up out of the dust, thanks to a helping hand from my Sergeant.

"We've got air support, but they need a flare—"

"A…flare?" I asked shakily, feeling warm blood running down my back.

"Yeah, a beacon—they need to know where to fire on, we need to toss a flare out…"

The task ahead of me was formidable, almost Herculean. I had to run out into the middle of the battlefield, avoiding gunfire and shells, toss up a flare to mark the area for a bombing run, and then race back to my home turf before the fireworks came. The chance of me dying before I was able to lay down the flares was high; the chance of me dying on the way back, extremely high.

"Alright, do we have a flare?" I asked my Sergeant, as I winced against the burning pain. Medics were helping other men up, and retrieving the two corpses and hauling them to a makeshift triage.

"We've got several—we need to lay them out far enough—"

"I know what we need to do. But I can't go out there alone, Sergeant. Can we create a diversion?"

"That's risky, sir—they'll shred anyone who goes out there and stands still long enough. You'd have to be quick," he spoke hastily, as another steel rain shell exploded farther away, peppering a group of machine gunners with shrapnel. It's a terrible thing, to see six or seven men jerk and shudder before falling flat to the ground, resembling bloody pincushions as they fall.

"I'll only need thirty seconds to place it. Do they have helos on standby?"

"Jets, sir. Fighter/bombers."

I knew that if I could pull this off, the way through would be clear. All I needed was a little time, and some luck…

"Get both of our tanks out of cover, have them provide a diversion. I'll talk to their drivers personally."

I told the drivers of the last two tanks to power up their vehicles and prepare to rush out; using their speed and mobility, they would draw fire away from me and a select group of escorts, who were to rush out and smoke the area before retreating back to the compound. Neither driver seemed particularly pleased to run out into the open, but they had no choice but to heed my commands.

More shells burst overhead, lurid oranges and reds that blasted jagged shards of metal across the landscape. I could feel the tiny bits of shrapnel still lodged into my flesh; I ignored the pain temporarily, as the tanks powered up and began to roll out of the complex, running over multiple corpses as they went.

"Sergeant, with me!" I yelled, holstering the smoke flare and drawing my rifle.

"Let's mess them, boys!"

The ten men who were with me were overjoyed to meet the enemy; we rushed out of the gate as the tanks drew fire, shells and bullets roaring past them or clipping the armored sides. From what I could see, we were surrounded on two sides by residential neighborhoods, where the Loyalists had dug in and poured fire onto us. The tanks fired off randomly, but they were unable to hit anything; there were no visible targets to hit, and thus they rolled on, drawing the fire while the infantrymen pounded after them.

I took the group far enough away from the chain-link gate to the power station, up to a four-way intersection in the road. There, as the tanks turned around, I tossed up the flare and watched as it exploded in a burst of red smoke, scattering the air around it with the reddish haze.

"Flares up, contact the strike squadron—"

As I spoke, a squadron of attack jets was roaring over southern Adelina, waiting for the signal to reinforce any position with a strike run. The position would be radioed in, the smoke would be targeted, the Loyalists would be decimated…

"Tell them to target the surrounding area as well! Cluster bomb them!" I ordered my sergeant, who was now desperately fumbling with the radio device in order to open up communications.

The run out had been nearly suicidal; I saw men fall on every side, cut down by machine gun fire that was becoming more accurate by the moment. The tanks were absorbing most of the fire, their drivers positioning themselves between the hail of bullets and the infantrymen now struggling to return to the complex, about a half-mile from the fire zone.

"One minute until the fire comes, captain—"

"Get us out of here!"

We began to dash for the power station, receiving fire from all sides except in front of us. The tanks screened what they could, but by the time those metal gates were in sight, there were only three of us left running along with the armor. We could barely keep up…

The sound behind me was like a roaring wave, a tremendous, earth splitting roar that was growing louder every second it came closer. The jets zoned in on their target, targeting not only the open sands behind us but the neighborhoods flanking them, preparing to drop their mighty arsenal…

The shockwave was instantaneous; I was expecting it to be slow, something I would be able to resist, even if I staggered. But it _raised _me off the ground, throwing me up into the air, and knocking me flat on my stomach. My face smashed into the hard concrete, knocking me unconscious as my eardrums were nearly shattered and the bombs fell…

"Get up! Get up! Get your ass off the ground, we gotta move!"

The voice was harsh and unfamiliar; not at all like the one of my Sergeant, my loyal second-in-command. Instead, it was that of a corporal, a ragged man with a large gash on his chin, bleeding on me. There was smoke in the air, thick and choking, and dust rose high in great clouds.

"Where's Sergeant—"

"He's dead, sir! We need to move!"

Without another word, the corporal hefted me up on his shoulder and began to run, hauling me with him. The poor injured man didn't even make it ten feet before a bullet struck him in the head, going over my back by just an inch. He toppled to the ground, lifeless, and I was catapulted back onto the hard ground, coughing and retching as my head began to spin. I was looking at the pavement one moment, and then up at the clear blue sky, as jets roared by once more, dropping something…

The heavy payload landed farther away this time, but the ground trembled and my vision was rattled once more. I felt like throwing up again; the sharp pains in my back were nearly unbearable. I had landed right on my back, driving the metal spikes in deeper, and the pain almost knocked me unconscious once more.

Survival instincts kicked in; there was only one way to run, and that was to where I perceived safety to be. Fortunately, an open cargo truck that had been stolen from the power station was going to drive right past me, and I leapt inside as it drove past, thankful to see friendly faces huddling in the cargo bay.

"Where's Sergeant—"

"He's dead, Captain, I'm sorry…"

I had already asked the question, but I felt that it needed to be queried again. One of the infantry grunts responded calmly, looking me straight in the eyes. I felt a pang of loss for my second-in-command; I had never even known his name, and he had served me so valiantly, going on our suicide expedition…

"We're out of here, gents—keep your guns ready, safeties off," one of the men, another corporal, called to his soldiers. We were not the last ones out of the complex; with a sinking feeling, I looked back to see small shapes running out of the power station, infantrymen who had been left behind by the convoy that was now making an escape from the power station. A couple of ATVs dashed out of the main gate, but there were at least twenty soldiers left behind. They would never catch up to the main convoy.

"We're making a break for it, captain, while the Loyalists are getting back on their feet," the corporal spoke to me as I stared back at the station, feeling pity for those we abandoned. I turned back around to face him.

"Did the bombs hit their targets?"

"All too well. I'm sure they got a nasty slap in the face with that," the corporal responded, grinning nastily. "But they'll recover soon, and they'll be on us again."

As soon as he said that, the blades of a helicopter could be heard nearby. I could see the metal body hovering over neighboring houses, and heard the massive explosion ahead of us. One of the convoy's vehicles had been hit by missiles; the driver took a sharp left and I was almost thrown out of the moving vehicle as we went down a side street.

"Why the hell are you—"

"Hard left, the tank got hit! There's no way I can get past it, we'll have to make a detour here!" The driver screamed back at the corporal, who was desperately inquiring about our situation.

"You can't just turn like this, you don't know where you're going!"

"The street's blocked, I can't go anywhere else!"

We were zipping down side streets now, barely missing cars parked on the edge as we flew down the suburban routes at fifty miles an hour. The helicopter was now targeting our truck, and I knew that if it got a shot off, our vehicle wouldn't stand a chance.

"Captain!" We've got a Stinger back here!"

The corporal tapped me on the back and handed me a large metal tube with optics and grips; the Stinger missile would be more than enough to take down our pursuer, and I accepted it gratefully. Heavy as it was, I was able to turn towards the chopper and take aim.

"It's all yours, Cap—knock that fucker out of the sky—"

By the time the Stinger signaled a lock-on by beeping monotonically at me, the pilot of the Loyalist helicopter had realized what was happening. But it was too late; I pulled the trigger, and the tube roared in a blast of smoke and fire, launching its deadly projectile out. The missile would track the heat signature of the chopper; the pilot desperately banked away, but he could not avoid the deadly projectile. It smashed into the end of the helicopter, sending the craft into an irrecoverable tailspin. I could see two small figures leaping out of the burning wreckage as it hurtled to the ground, and knew that they had saved themselves from fire, but not from death. The aircraft fell into one of the houses in an eruption of fire and metal shards, smashing into the roof of the bungalow and caving in most of the structure as it fell and exploded once more, its missiles exploding in one final show of light and sound.

"Did we catch up yet?" the corporal screamed into the cab space, as the helicopter's explosion drowned out all other noise.

"There's no way to the main street from here, we're going right through Loyalist territory—"

As if to punctuate this point, the driver turned out of a small alley at forty miles per hour and ran right into a Loyalist ATV, which had been patrolling the area. The tiny vehicle was smashed into oblivion by the cargo truck; the driver was lucky. He had been thrown off of the vehicle by first impact, tossed onto the sidewalk. The rider went underneath the wheels, and I deigned not to look at the mess we left behind as what remained of both ATV and rider were catapulted behind the truck, spit out by the wheels.

"For Notch's sake, slow down, we're going to run into something here—"

The corporal's cries could not be heard over the roaring of jets not fifty feet over us; they were way too close for a flyover, and I realized what their intentions were.

"Button up! BUTTON UP!" I yelled at the corporal and driver, who were still relentlessly arguing over our escape. I saw no choice but to leap out of the moving truck—the jets were bombing right above us, and if they hit the truck, I would not survive…

One of the others had the same idea, and we leapt out at the same time. I hit the ground like a block of lead, smashing my already bruised and battered face into the concrete. I could feel my jawbone and nose crack and felt a shoulder bone shatter. Sinews in my shoulder muscles were ruptured by the impact, and my forehead was torn open, splattering blood on the dusty suburban street. But I was alive, and I relished the fresh air that I received as the world exploded around me, and the bombs fell once more…

xXXXXXXXXXXXXXx

I awoke to someone trying to strip my weapons and gear from me—they were Loyalist, I could tell by their clothing, but they looked to be one of the green recruits, criminals and deadbeats ripped from the streets and given a rusty weapon and some armor. He smelled of cigarette smoke, and he was attempting to relieve me of my combat armor. He must have assumed that I was already dead; as I whipped around, my survival instincts kicking in once more, he shirked away, gasping suddenly. He tried to withdraw his pistol, but I wrapped by leg around his ankle and pulled him to the ground, knocking him back onto the hard pavement.

I don't know why I beat him to death; it might have been a combination of things. I hated the world at this point; it felt like I had been abandoned to cruel fate, everything I had loved torn away over the past few weeks. Langsford Peak had been a desolate place, but it had the promise of a family, a home; this was no home, there was no family here. I had been separated from the people I had loved and become accustomed to. Even Celine was apart from me, sent away by Carstone to recover from her minor injuries.

And where was I? Bloodied, injured, broken, kneeling over a terrified youth on a dark, abandoned street, bashing his face in with my bare fists. My shoulders were pained with every blow; the sinew and muscle had been damaged when I had leapt from the truck. Dried blood caked my nose and lips, and had run down into my eyes from my forehead. My nose was smashed, my jaw was unmovable, a hot pain rampaged through my gut. I could not feel anything in my back; the shards of metal pierced deeply, but there was no feeling there.

Before I could stop myself, I had murdered the Loyalist scavenger. He lay beneath my knees, his face mangled and bloodied, becoming cold and still. The soldier who had leapt out with me was dead; long dead, his body cold and his blood chilled in his veins. I forced myself to rise up and take what I could from him—his ammo, a canteen of water, his dog tags. The world was dark with night now; I wondered if Notch was looking down upon me from his "world", seeing the mess that had come to the world of Minecraft.

I staggered along the barren streets, stumbling past wreckage and debris. The truck had toppled over and caught on fire; those who had been able to escape were gone now, and the rest of the men inside had asphyxiated or burned to death. I felt no pity for them, not now; after all, what were they to the Secessionists? Just a few more men to throw away, for the ultimate "goal"—freedom, a fleeting ideal that would never come to be.

The temple was nearby, lit up with searchlights and torches. Men ran around it, piling rotting corpses up around the walls, accompanied by bulldozers and trucks. They were Secessionists, allies, and friends, those that I had come to lead and love. One of them must have spotted me, because he pointed and shouted something incoherent, something that was echoed amongst all of his comrades.

At that moment, I couldn't care. Maybe at some other time I would've fallen into the arms of my beloved Celine, or my comrades, who would carry me to safety. I bled now, bleeding once more from every wound. I could stand no longer; I fell to the ground, hitting the dirt once more. For what was I?

Just another man to throw away, for the ultimate "goal"—freedom, a fleeting ideal that would never come to be.

Could never come to be.

**Yeah, heavy stuff. Sorry for all that at the end, but it felt like a good way to end the chapter.**

**See you all with the next chapter! It will be up faster than this one was, I hope! As always, reviews are welcome!**


	42. The Black Gates

**I'm sorry, everyone, if this took a long time to come out. There were complications, and things happened. But it's here, so yay!**

**One thing—there was a 2001 miniseries called **_**Band of Brothers**_**. If you can rent it, go do so. NOW. It's honestly quite incredible, and it's influenced me a lot ever since I've started watching it. But since it's R or something like that, I'm not sure if mentioning it is the best idea…**

**Anyway…**

**Not much to say here in this author's note. So on to the answers :D**

**Woohooman14: Yes, that was what I was aiming for. I've been watching **_**Band of Brothers**_** recently, and the way the sufferings and hardships of Easy Company are portrayed has really influenced me. Seriously great miniseries.**

**HPE24: I didn't know you felt so strongly about the unnamed sergeant :(**

**Just another casualty of war, unfortunately. There's plenty on both sides…war is hell, and there's no way you can escape it unscathed. Ugh…that sounds terrible o_O**

**Oh, the Ender father's still alive. He'll be here—I need to get him written in some more…**

**Eta7400: It's a cliffhanger, but not an ending :)**

**Ptrip3: The thing with Herobrine is complicated for me. I want Herobrine to be there to protect him, but I can't have it be too overprotective—otherwise Leon would never be in danger. And yes, I realize how Nether Stars are used—but I just gave them another use, for the hell of it.**

**PigeonFligher: The Sergeant died in the line of duty. We salute his sacrifice.**

**I think Leon might be suffering from PTSD—he's been through so much, he just collapsed. He'll get a bit of a break, don't worry :)**

**And Herobrine and the Ender father will be back. Soon…**

**TerrarianCreeper: No friendly Withers—they're the enemies. Sorry. And yes, Darius will be back—every single survivor and OC will be back for the next chapter or two. Some of them won't make it out, but…such is the price they will pay. And if you PM me this splash you made, I'd be happy to read it.**

**Best Halloween costume? It's been awhile since Halloween, but if I remember correctly, some guy dressed himself as Obama, asked for half of my candy, and when refused went and planted "OBAMA/BIDEN '12" signs in my front lawn, shed his costume and his pants, and then ran away. I think he was the best simply because he was insane.**

**Mellifluousness: Simply writing your name for an answer feels incredible. I don't really expect you to review everything, but I'm quite glad that you have done so. It's great that you're enjoying :D**

**Black Panther: Ah, reading the Elites? Well, everyone updates eventually, so just keep an eye out for them :)**

**xXXXXXXXXXXXXx**

_I stood on the mountain, a cross between a man and a phantom, invisible to all but myself. They were strange people, and they seemed familiar…the noses, so elongated. The skin, brownish and mottled…their eyes, very alert and focused, as if waiting for something to happen…_

_The only human there had very bright red hair, falling down below his shoulders, like that of a woman. But he wasn't a woman; his face was young and eager, although he seemed concerned as well. He approached one of the "Testificates", they were called, and began to speak rapidly in a language I did not understand._

_The villager was concerned as well, and led the red-haired man down through a doorway that led underground. It led into the mountain; without hesitating, I followed, unsure if it was the right thing to do._

_We plunged deep into rock and stone, finally arriving into a massive chamber that was the size of the entire summit. It was hollow, though; the entire summit of the mountain was hollow, the stone removed and replaced by a single empty space. And the space was almost entirely empty, except for the giant stack of sand in the middle._

_It wasn't regular sand; the texture formed that of a collection of hideous, agonized faces, all sharing a horrid torment. Their screams were silent; they sat tall, in the vague shape of a man without legs. It was almost like a "T" shape, with two strange skulls sitting on top. There was an empty space in the center._

"_Are you sure that it will work?"_

"_It will. We've gone over this before, Jeb."_

"_I want to make sure. If Markus finds out…"_

"_Markus will not know," the Testificate spoke. "He is as good as cut off from this world. The portal is interfering too much…"_

"_And what if he finds out how to actually get in? Like I have?" Jeb asked, concerned. He was the redheaded man, and I could see why he was concerned._

"_Then we will worry. Until then, everything is going to plan. Except for one small problem—"_

"_You're missing a skull. I know the schematics," Jeb said dryly. "How do you plan to fix this?"_

"_It's simple…"_

I didn't wake up where I expected to be; I had expected to be flat on the ground, choking on dust and dirt, in the middle of Adelina. But I found myself in a bed, one remarkably familiar and quite comfortable compared to my previous lodgings in that blasted town. I had no idea how I came to be in that comfort, but as I sat up and studied my surroundings I knew that I was somewhere safe, but where that safe place was remained a mystery. I had been dreaming…that was all it was, a dream…nothing to be concerned about…

The door to my solitary room opened, and Commander Carstone entered, followed by Herobrine, an unknown man, and Dr. Caldwell.

"Well, he's alive, at least—"

"I told you he would be," Caldwell remarked, to Carstone's irritation. "He's a resilient man, that's for sure."

I didn't know how long I was out; but I did not feel like asking questions. My head was bothering me, and I realized that every part of my body ached, especially my back. I remembered that the last time I had been conscious, a dozen tiny shards of metal had been embedded into my flesh…

"How are you doing, Leon?" Caldwell asked directly to me. I tried to respond as strongly as I could.

"I'm…alright," I mumbled weakly, blinking rapidly.

"You don't sound too good, son," Carstone remarked.

"I'm a bit off…"

"A bit off, eh? You were out for nearly a week, Captain. You're quite lucky to be alive, honestly," Carstone said bitterly, standing against the doorframe. "I was afraid that you were dead."

"How bad…was it?" I managed, biting my lip against the pain. I had moved too forcefully, and brought new pangs of pain into my upper back.

"Most of your blood had already been lost, you were badly damaged, at least eight different bones broken or fractured. Semi-comatose for four days, and asleep for the last two…definitely lucky to be alive," Carstone told me. He didn't look too good himself; he had a massive gash across his forehead, and his left eye was blackened.

"I'm surprised that I'm still alive…"

"So are we. Miraculous…almost divine intervention, eh?" Carstone chuckled at his own jest, but it was clear that nobody else found it funny. Caldwell took over then, and Herobrine stood by him as he did.

"Well, Leon…your sacrifices have certainly, er, paid off. There's a lot I have to explain, so I'll do it as simply as possible. What you retrieved from that station—"

"All of that data?" I asked, uncertain.

"Yes, that data…all of that has pointed us to an objective that could bring the Withers to their knees. Metaphorically, of course…uh, Withers don't have knees…"

"Go on, Doctor," I said, slightly irritated.

"Yes, of course…well, we've found another Nether portal. This is what we were looking for."

"Another portal? There was…another?"

"Built over here during the government's colonization. It was never used up until this point…but it acts the same as the other one. Relatively similar…"

"What do you mean, relatively?" I asked him.

"Well, there's no telling if the Loyalists have tampered with it or not. My studies with the Nether were limited to trips every six months, and my studies of the portal _itself_ were very poor. What little I knew I pooled with other scientists and the government collected _all _of that data. This means that it lies in the hands of Wycokrwyz."

"And what, may I ask, does this data give us?"

"The precise location of the portal—on the Overworld, that is," Caldwell corrected quickly.

I could see how this information was somewhat valid, but the real reason still evaded me…

"Ok, so we found another Nether portal. Is there another reason why this was so _damn _important?" I asked, more forcefully this time.

"It's the Nether Star, captain," Carstone interrupted from the doorway, cutting Caldwell off. "We have reason to believe that the government has already set up shop in the Nether and is manufacturing Nether Stars out of…I don't know, some material. Point is, they're synthesizing them from something," Carstone explained.

"And…you want to know what they're making them out of?"

I remembered how useful the Nether Stars were—the Withers in Adelina were _completely _pacified by the one that lay inside the temple. To have just one in our possession would be great, but more than one would be a miracle…

"I'm afraid that's not possible," Herobrine spoke, breaking his silence. "We do not have the equipment to manufacture such a powerful magical object. It's nearly impossible—"

"And requires a great deal of energy," Caldwell interjected. "What we want are the Nether Stars they've already produced. So in a sense—"

"Stealing them," Carstone finished with a spat.

"Something so powerful should not be tampered with so lightly," Herobrine spoke under his breath, shaking his head.

"The data told us pretty much everything we need to know about the manufacturing plant—it's an impressive endeavor, I'll admit," Caldwell spoke, ignoring Herobrine. "They renovated one of those Nether fortresses and turned it into a manufacturing facility—nuclear-powered, well-defended, and nearly impossible to get into…"

"It's a fortress in every sense," Carstone summed up pointedly. "To attack it head-on would be suicidal, and it would get us nowhere. But we need those Nether Stars."

"How many have they produced? Did the data tell us anything about that?" I asked, shifting uncomfortably in bed.

"It's a pretty high number. Enough for us to control the Wither spread," Carstone answered.

"Unfortunately, all stored within that Nether fortress. We don't know much about the security, but…" Caldwell could not finish his sentence.

"It's guaranteed to be strong," Herobrine finished instead. "Combine that with the dangers the Nether poses already and it will be a challenge to retrieve those Stars."

I pondered the entire operation; it would be nearly suicidal, even if a small strike team were sent in to infiltrate the facility. I had no idea what the layout of this "factory" was—it would be similar to the generic Nether fortress, but the modifications that the Loyalist occupants had made would have to be taken into account.

On the other hand, the benefits would be huge; not only would our operations be safe from the Withers, but should we put their factory out of operation, the Nether Stars could be used as bargaining chips to sue for peace.

_If we had possession of those…to what lengths would the government go to share them with us?_

"Captain, I assume you know why we brought this up with you?"

"You…want me to lead this, don't you? You want me to attack it."

"Unfortunately, yes," Carstone answered. Caldwell left the room, apparently deciding that he was no longer needed. "You're the best leader I've got—after we won Adelina—"

"Wait, we won Adelina? You mean we took the town?"

I had no idea whether or not we had secured the town or not; I had been out for nearly a week.

"Sort of," Carstone said. "We…kicked the Loyalists out, but our position was compromised by the Withers. Our only choice was to pull back."

"Where am I now, then? This feels…familiar…"

"Cardinals' Point," he said offhandedly. "We lost Adelina, but our southern line is holding relatively well. The only way to guarantee its security is—"

"To secure those Stars," I finished. "What about the one in Adelina?"

"Lost, still in the temple. The problem with the stars is that their range is incredibly small—maybe the one in Adelina is different, I don't know. But it's our best weapon against these…monstrosities," he hesitated, choosing the correct word to describe the three-headed fiends.

"Do the synthesized stars have more power, or energy?"

"I couldn't tell you," Carstone admitted. "But like I said, it's our best weapon. Even better than a thousand rockets."

"Well, returning to the topic at hand…I'm in no condition to run any operation of _any _kind. Take a look at me."

Carstone did so, but shrugged idly.

"Bedridden, yes. But we've got you on track to recover within four or five days. Plenty of time—they have no idea that their information has been stolen, and they're probably focusing more on the Dune Siege than on defending their portal."

"Four or five days? Are you…serious?"

"You'll be well by then. We can't afford to do physical therapy—you'll have to get back on your feet, no question. But your wounds should be in good shape, for the most part."

"Are you…serious? What about my fractures, my broken bones?"

"Some of them are already taken care of. We filled in some of the fractures with a plastic that will act as a temporary solution—"

"It won't hold up! It won't do!" I argued, rising up to a sitting position. The pain was mostly gone, but the wounds in my back burned as I sat up. "Isn't there another way? What about…potions?"

"We considered that, but nobody here knows potioneering. Many of those who practiced the art were jailed back home, and when the jails were emptied they were caught up with the vagabonds and criminals. There are very few in these lands who know even basic brewing," Carstone explained.

"A regeneration potion…would take less than ten hours, wouldn't it?"

"I don't know," he answered honestly. "If we can find a potioneer and the right ingredients, it would be a miracle. But miracles are rare, and the fact that you're alive and breathing is a great blessing."

"So that's it, then? A few days to recover, and then it's back into the meat grinder?"

"It's your duty, Leon. These men need you…_I _need you. Get your rest, and be ready within four days. We cannot spare any more time."

There was no apology, no kind words to comfort me. I was faced with returning to Hell once more, and within four days, no less. My old injuries hurt again as I lay back down; the door shut behind Carstone, leaving me with Herobrine.

The white-eyed man had little to say; he always had very little to say. He wasn't very good at socializing or striking a conversation; but he began to speak nonetheless.

"He's right about duty, you know."

"I know, Hero…don't lecture me about what I have to do. But the odds…"

"They're against you, yes," he agreed. "But Carstone plans for all of you to go in there. Everyone that you've fought with before—including me and our Ender friend."

"He's…still alive?"

The Enderman, the grieving father, had no name pinned to him. I had tried to create one before, but none seemed suitable to him. He was just a nameless, faceless alien who had joined us when his last light had been extinguished.

"He is still alive, and thriving. He has agreed to aid you on your mission, along with everyone else."

Celine, Miguel, Rina, Darius, Lance, Joseph, Dr. Caldwell, the Enderman…they would all be at my side during our infiltration.

"And you are escorting me?"

"My brother's mission did not end back in Langsford Peak. I am still assigned to watching over you—although this time, it will be more actively. I assume that I will be shedding blood," Herobrine answered.

"Maybe. I want this to be as bloodless as possible—get in quick, get out quick, and act like it never happened," I said.

"You plan for it already?"

"It's four days from now, Hero—I don't want to, but I have to be ready, come hell or high water."

I exercised in the local weight room, as I was supposed to. Get my strength back, get feeling back into my muscles, and have them prepped for whatever was to come in the Nether. By lunchtime, I was feeling relatively normal, despite some stabbing pains in my back and a dull, throbbing ache in my upper shoulder.

"Some pain medicine at night should help you sleep," Miguel suggested at lunch, as he, Celine and Rina sat with me in the small base cafeteria. "It helped me a few weeks ago."

Miguel had made an amazing recovery; having been critically wounded back at Riverside, he was in terrible condition. I had expected him to bleed to death before he reached safe hands. And yet he had survived and recovered fully, back to being a happy, healthy human being.

"I'll make sure to take some…thanks," I said.

"Well, I was afraid that you were dead too," Celine laughed, dropping beside me. "It was a pretty close call…"

"Who found me out there?" I asked her.

"Lance and one of his patrols did. They saw you before you fell unconscious…very lucky, I would say," she answered, taking a bite out of the cold sandwich that passed for lunch.

"You're telling me."

I hadn't mentioned the dream I had witnessed the previous night to anyone; what made it different from most dreams was that it felt _so_ real…so very real, almost tangible…

"Can I tell you something? This might sound…weird…"

"Well, ok…I guess," Celine answered, chuckling uncomfortably. Miguel and Rina were busy flirting beside me; they wouldn't be able to hear a word if I whispered.

"I had a dream—"

"Really, Leon? Again with this…dream business? Are you sure this wasn't your subconscious just screwing with you?"

"It didn't feel like a normal dream. It was almost…er…tangible, you could say…"

I felt like a fool trying to explain it to her. A dream wasn't as organized as mine had been; every part of it felt like a play being acted out, one that had been rehearsed a thousand times before…

"It was a dream, Leon," Celine said sharply. "It might have felt real, but…what was it about, anyway?"

I told about everything—the mountain, the mysterious man, the skulls. At one point, Miguel and Rina began to listen in with obvious concern.

"And then, it just ended…abrupt…"

"Maybe it was a message? I remember you mentioning them back in Langsford Peak—we all thought those were dreams, but they were really messages from someone," Miguel suggested. "Maybe?"

"I don't know," Celine said, shaking her head. "It just sounds like a dream to me. I'm no expert."

"I just thought I'd bring it up, see what you guys think," I muttered, aware that nobody but Miguel really understood. He seemed to see the point I was trying to make.

"Well, it troubles me, Leon," Celine admitted, and Rina nodded her approval. "It's not healthy for you…to think like this. It was just a dream…nobody is trying to send you messages, nobody is trying to communicate with you…"

I did not wish to push the argument any further. I simply agreed, nodding my head as I began to dig into the bowl of soup that was starting to cool off. I would hopefully discuss it at a later date; whatever I had seen disturbed me greatly, and it felt far too real to be just a regular dream…

"_What news is there, Jeb?"_

"_I'm afraid that I bring bad news…very bad news, indeed," the redhead spoke, troubled. The elder offered him a cup of black tea, but the man refused._

"_What do you bring to me?"_

"_The Nether Stars…there are more of them, dozens more…"_

"_I thought there was only one? And it wasn't that powerful, it wasn't a beacon—"_

"_There are more," the man spat angrily. "They are making them…creating them out of raw materials, not the way they were meant to be made…they should never have existed, at all…"_

_Jeb was obviously concerned and upset about the Nether Stars; they pacified Withers completely, stopping them and their undead creations in their tracks._

"_This is troubling—"_

"_Of course it's troubling, you fuck! It's some of the worst news—"_

"_But we have a solution. We've had one ever since we began this operation," the elder spoke calmly._

"_Pray, tell me then," the man hissed sarcastically. "I would be delighted to hear it."_

"_We have four golems—iron infused with diamond, strong enough to withstand what you humans call…105mm shells…"_

_Jeb's eyes lit up almost immediately._

"_You…created these yourself?"_

"_My people created them. They would be used to protect the village in dire times—plenty strong enough to withstand ten creepers blasts. And more."_

"_Tell me more, then. I'm intrigued…"_

xXXXXXXXXXXXXXx

The next three days came and went quickly. It consisted mostly of exercising lightly, eating well and sleeping for at least eight hours a night. Celine was not allowed to sleep with me while I was recovering; thus, I spent each night cold and lonely, before the inevitable fourth day dawned.

The war had come to a stalemate; with the Withers pressing in the south and famines ravaging much of the nation, there was no end in sight to the death and destruction. Our little surgical strike could be a catalyst; it would change the course of the war, in our favor, and maybe even bring an end to the conflict.

I was woken at five in the morning by Herobrine, who had slept little overnight. He had no need to sleep; he was not human, and was not burdened by the need to eat or sleep.

"It's so damn early…"

"We need to be up early, Carstone ordered," Herobrine spoke as I dressed in basic clothes, which would go under combat armor. "It's a two-hour flight down to our objective, and we need to be there before the sun's up. Element of surprise, he said."

"Well, I was planning on sleeping in," I said sarcastically, finishing my dressing.

"I know you were. Suck it up."

It took me another thirty minutes to grab my gear and be at the landing pad. We were all there—Celine, Miguel, Rina, Capt. Barcelona, Darius, Capt. Greenwell, Mouse, Tala and Shadow, all together on the pad. We would be the surgical team—get in, extract what we needed, get out. Simple in theory, probably impossible in execution.

"Well, Leon…you got a plan for us?" Lance asked, looking nervous as well as excited. I realized that I was to be the leader on this expedition; Carstone was nowhere in sight, and the helicopter pilot was waiting for my signal.

"Sort of…"

"Well, let's hear it, then," Darius asked, his hand on his Anaconda. He looked as ready as ever, decked out in heavy SWAT gear.

"So, we have no layout of the facility, and we don't know it's location in respect to the portal…so we're going to have to do most of this on the fly…"

"That's the best way to do it," Mouse muttered under her breath, smiling in anticipation.

"We'll sort out our plan of attack once we know where we're going and where we are. I want us to stay together during this—NO splitting up."

I had given our orders; it was time to move out.

The helicopter roared to life as all ten of us boarded the chopper, barely fitting inside the light scout helicopter. We rose up into the air, the military base and the city of Cardinals' Point disappearing below us as we rose into the cool dawn air.

xXXXXXXXXXXXx

Immediately I knew that something was wrong as we approached the coordinates that we had been given from the data collection. The pilot pointed to something on the dashboard, and muttered something.

"No heat signatures…"

That was all; a normal person would've just assumed that it was an anomaly, but I knew something had to be wrong. Even something as small as a personal heating unit or a thermal blanket would show up on the monitor, and there was nothing. Just a blank space where the outpost should have been.

I glanced up out of the cockpit's windshield, and saw the outpost dead ahead. Watch towers, sandbag walls, tents and collections of vehicles. There was no movement, not a single sign of life—something was terribly wrong, and it didn't take a genius to understand that.

"We've got a problem, don't we?" I asked the pilot.

"I couldn't tell you what it is, Captain, but I couldn't agree more. You want me to put the bird down outside?"

"No, no…inside…I don't think we'll be meeting any resistance there…"

I stepped back into the cargo bay, as the helo began to lose altitude slowly, dropping down to its final destination.

"What was that all about?" Celine asked as I returned.

"A bit of a problem…no heat signatures, no life signs, nothing in the camp," I spoke to everyone.

"Could be a trap," Rina suggested, her hair still wet after a long morning shower.

"You can't turn off your bodies…those would show up on the tracker, too. There are no signs of life, I'm positive," I said as we dropped into the outpost, touching down gently on the sand. The sun was now high in the sky, and as we were on the border between northern forest and southern desert, it was beginning to grow rather warm.

We stepped out of the helicopter into the remains of a warzone. There were bodies scattered everywhere; many of them, on closer examination, had suffered from blunt force trauma or broken and/or fractured bones. There were no bullet wounds in any of the Loyalist corpses, but bullet casings lay everywhere.

"What the hell…what the hell?" was all Miguel was capable of saying. Everywhere you looked there were bodies; men in t-shirts carrying hunting shotguns, soldiers in professional body armor with assault rifles. They came from every walk of life, and now they had all died together, slaughtered by some unknown entity.

"No bullet wounds. In any of them," Joseph observed, turning over one of the bodies.

"Goddamn…that's just weird," Shadow swore. "There are shell casings everywhere, though. Just everywhere…what the hell happened?"

"All of these bodies have broken bones somewhere. Every single one I've examined has suffered fractures in at least three different places," Tala observed, carefully studying one of the bodies of a commander. Everyone was fanning out now, surveying the abandoned, dead outpost.

"That's just weird," Shadow said again, to nobody in particular.

"Should I get up again, sir? They'll be waiting for me back at Alpha-198," the pilot called from the interior of the scout bird.

"Yeah, take her off. Stay in contact, though—things might go from bad to worse," I called back to him as he started up the engines and rotors. With the deafening beat of the blades, the helicopter slowly rose up in the air, banked sharply left, and flew off into the fading rose colors of the dying dawn.

"Something's not right here, Leon. You can feel it, I know you can," Celine whispered to me. She was the closest person to me; everyone else was fanning out, scanning the camp.

"I know, I know…something doesn't feel right—"

"What? You can't place it? Leon, these wounds…they're not normal, it's like they were all clubbed to death. And all the shell casings…it doesn't make any sense—"

"Well, do you have any idea? Because I don't," I snapped impolitely. I had taken on a harsh tone with her, and I immediately realized my mistake. "I'm sorry, I'm just as confused as you are…but we have to press forward, as much as I hate to."

"I can't help but feel that this is a trap of some sort," Celine muttered, following closely behind me as I made my way past dozens of bodies to what looked like a central building.

Eventually everyone gathered together and we rejoined at a squat concrete building in the center of the complex. The door was locked; two dead men, both well-armed and armored, were slumped against the wall. Again, no bullet holes; copious amounts of blood and broken bones, but no piercings of any sort.

"What the hell could have done this? No bullets, no explosions, nothing," Darius wondered aloud as I tried the door. It wouldn't budge to anything but a solid kick; I hit once, twice, and finally on the third try the weak door caved in.

The only thing inside was the portal; a familiar site to me, but something completely new to the others. The only other people whom I knew that had experienced the Nether were both dead.

"Well, I'll be damned," Joseph swore as we stepped inside. The squat building was large enough to fit all ten of us.

"I'd heard stories about something like this before…rumors, conspiracy theories, that sort of rubbish," Mouse commented, patting the obsidian frame of the portal. Immediately she withdrew her hand; I touched it and realized why. The frame was icy cold, so cold that it scalded flesh upon contact.

"Well, they weren't rubbish, let me tell you that," I said as she cursed under her breath, holding her hand in pain.

"Will anything happen when we go through? Leon, you know…what happens?" Mouse asked.

"Nothing much. You just kinda come out…on the other side. There's a bit of nausea involved, but it's nothing you can't deal with. Just walk it off."

Nobody moved; I stood in front of the portal, gazing up at the purplish essence that floated lazily inside. It seemed to be calling me, the strands of blue goo whispering my name a thousand times over, a seductive voice…

"You first, Leon?"

"Yeah…I guess…"

I stepped into the haze of the portal, feeling the world spin out of existence as a new one developed around me…

I stepped into a pristine, clean building with whitewashed walls and rooms. Everything had the feeling of a hospital about it—everything was white, and the light was harsh and unwelcome.

But there were no people around; there was equipment everywhere, weapons and supplies and tools and cabinets full of assorted objects. But nobody lurked in these hallways, nobody stood sentry at the doors or worked in the offices. It was so eerily abandoned…

The others were coming out of the portal one by one, stepping out as the blue slime expelled them.

"Well, this is a nice place to step out into," Darius commented sarcastically, shielding his eyes against the harsh fluorescent lights.

"Something's not right here, either," I muttered, stepping out of the portal room and into the white hallway. Not a soul in sight, and not a sound either; all so quiet, and abandoned.

"Yeah, I can feel it too."

"This whole place feels so goddamn wrong…wouldn't there be people here? At least a few of them?" Shadow asked, glancing around at his surroundings.

"There should be…and there aren't any bodies, either," I noted. There was an exit door nearby, leading outside; I threw the double doors open, onto a vista that one could never forget.

The sky was as open as it could possibly be in the Nether; we were sitting inside a cliff cave, the overhang rising up above us. Out in front of the small complex a massive fortress of Nether brick was suspended by giant pillars over a sea of boiling lava, which seemed to go on forever. From some ceiling that we could not see, streams of lava fell from up high, reaching from the top of the Nether to the churning ocean of magma below. The sight of the massive superstructure, complete with power generators and recent Loyalist constructions, was quite beautiful indeed. But everything felt amiss.

"Quite a sight," Celine said dryly, tossing her blond hair over her shoulder. "They must've put so much time into this…"

"The fortress was already there. They just took it over," I corrected.

"Would be a hell of a place to hold out in dangerous times—"

"There's a rail over here! Might be worth checking out!" I heard Tala cry, and turned over to her. There was a railroad system, dug into the thick Nether mud. Several carts were sitting in a station that was attached to the main complex, without any attendants.

"This must lead to the fortress…you can see a path leading to the main gate, all the way down there…"

I followed the rail as it went over the cliff, descended down and followed a very narrow pathway all the way to the fortress' main gate, which was almost indiscernible at this distance. It would be our best shot at reaching our destination…this mighty castle turned into a great factory…

There was gunfire in the distance, coming from the direction of the fortress. It was distant, but audible, and multiple bursts rang out every few seconds.

"Gunfire…"

"Not good," I whispered, gazing down at the stark and austere brick towers and battlements. They were all empty; there was no sign of a patrol on the walls, no traffic going to and from the fortress. Just desertion.

"Well, we have to go down there…one way or another…"

I pointed to the minecarts that would take us there. There were enough to fit two people into each.

Everyone begrudgingly took a cart. We set off towards the fortress, weapons in hand, not sure of what to expect. The gate was unguarded, the sounds of gunfire, dull as they were, remained audible.

I was terrified, yes; I had not felt this much fear ever since descending into Bailey Sanitarium. I had no idea what would await us inside the fortress; whether it was native creatures of the Nether, or something far worse, I did not know.

But we pressed on, and soon came to those towering black gates.


	43. The Nether Purge

**UPDATE TIME!**

**Yes, my friends, it's been quite a while since I've updated, and I've figured out how many chapters we've had left. Well, roughly three or four…maybe five, but don't count on it. We are nearing the end…the inevitable end.**

**Anyways, review answers!**

**HPE24: I know you think so! THANKS :DDDD**

**BlakeyBoy: Your question has been answered above.**

**Woohooman14: Yeah, Band of Brothers was just amazing. It's the only TV show that's actually made me cry at one point. Alex Penkala's death in the episode "The Breaking Point"…yeah ;_;**

**Dagsar12: Yep, Bailey. Creepy place.**

**Fseftr: I'm afraid that you will be **_**very **_**disappointed, then. I was tired of the old "spawn in Minecraft, build house, look for diamonds, go to Nether" formula, so I worked something new out. If you don't like it, that's fine—there's plenty of other fics that stick more to Minecraft than mine.**

**TerrarianCreeper: I can see why—exposition is difficult to do, and I find that "plot" chapters are hard to write. I try to make them slightly interesting, but it's difficult certainly. And I don't know what the best joke I've ever heard is. I'd have to think **_**way **_**back…**

**PigeonFligher: Crow…NO. Stop flying around here. NO BIRDS. And Minecraft science is just strange…I suppose with enough power and energy, you can synthesize Nether Stars? And yeah, don't trust Jeb…HINT HINT -_-**

**xXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXx**

The bodies were everywhere; guards and sentries slumped over in their posts, other bodies beaten and tossed against the walls, broken and lifeless. Gunfire rang out from inside the fortress, clearly audible over the lava geysers from below. The heat of the Nether was nearly unbearable; prolonged exposure would slowly burn your flesh, especially if you were close to one of the lava seas that filled the bottom of this abyss.

"We're not splitting up, right?"

Fear was an uncanny thing for something like the Enderman; and yet I could detect it in his harsh, grating voice, a distinct kind of anxiety.

"No. We'll stay as a group, that's final."

"It's a good idea. I wouldn't want to split—"

The entire fortress was rocked by a massive explosion; dust and bits of masonry tumbled from the gateway above us, and I was forced to fall back as I was showered and peppered by bits of warm brick. Smoke rose, thick and heavy, from below us, and I could feel some instability, as if one of the pillars holding the giant structure up had taken a hit and was giving way.

"That wasn't an ordinary explosion," Darius commented dryly. "Not a rocket or anything like that—too big…"

"Could've been a big rocket," Miguel suggested.

"No, no…not even a big missile would've done that. That sounded more like a fuel explosion…you can smell gasoline, too…"

I could detect the faint smell of gasoline in the air, beginning to overpower that of blood and the thick, hot air.

"Yeah, I can smell it—"

"We'd better get in there, and fast," Herobrine suggested, already leading the way in. "If there's a fire hot enough, it might destabilize the pillars. And there could be another explosion…"

Herobrine led the way into the barren fortress, rough-hewn diamond sword in hand. The only ones among us with real military training were Tala and Shadow, both rangers fresh from the rugged battlefield of Adelina. The rest of us had experience with firearms and combat, but this had to be the most intense situation I'd had since Riverside; no backup, a mass of opponents just waiting for us, and some phantasm running amok in the fortress, slaughtering the garrison.

The bodies never ended; they were sparse now, but everywhere, broken and busted by some unknown force. Still no bullet holes to be seen; all of the corpses had suffered from blunt force trauma, something that could only be delivered by a weapon like a club. It was _nearly_ impossible for a man armed with a club to kill a garrison full of firearm-toting government soldiers. In fact, completely impossible.

"Hold up, hold up…there's something up ahead…"

Herobrine had stopped us in the middle of one of the hallways of the labyrinthine fortress, his sword drawn.

"You see something?"

"Just barely…I can sense it, too. It won't be friendly, whatever it is…"

There _was _something in the hallway up ahead, its shadow showing on the far wall. It was big, whatever it was; every single one of us raised our weapons up, pointing them at the shadow that was slowly approaching.

"Get back…all of you…"

"Hero, what the hell is it—"

"Get back! GO!" Herobrine hissed, readying his blade. The massive form stumbled around the corner, and I immediately recognized it from Adelina:

_Iron golem. Almost completely impervious to bullets_.

I thought for a second that it was one of the ones from Adelina, friendly to humans. But the massive mountain of metal charged at us almost instantly, with an almost superhuman speed.

"RUN! GO!" Herobrine shouted, his glowing eyes blazing furiously as he charged at the behemoth. The two met in the hallway, clashing diamond against iron as Herobrine tried to hold his ground against the automaton.

Everyone ran without looking back. The golem, now enraged, was quite a terrifying sight to behold. The eyes glowed red like burning coals, one of them focused on us and the other fixated on Herobrine, who was trying to hold the monster back. Within a few seconds, the machine had overpowered its foe and, tossing Herobrine against the wall, began to run after us, now focusing completely on our group.

We had a head start, but the golem was fast; Herobrine was still rising from the dust, groping for his blade.

The golem began to charge now, sprinting faster than any man could. We wouldn't be able to outrun it; there was only one option…

At the first sign of a fork in the hallway, I threw myself left, into a narrower corridor, right as the golem crashed into Joseph and sent him and someone else flying down the length of the hall. Darius and the Ender father were both with me, having narrowly avoided the mass of iron that had sprinted right past us.

Against all that we had promised, we were now separated. The others had disappeared as soon as the three of us leapt out of sight, and another iron golem appeared at the entry to our corridor, unable to enter but menacing us from the main hallway. It tried to fit its massive form into our space, but it was unable to slip in, and resolved to leave and try to find us in a different way.

"My god…what the hell was that?"

"Iron golem…I've seen one of them before, Adelina," I gasped as the iron giant charged away, its heavy metal footsteps thundering as it ran.

"That explains a lot—"

"It's an automaton. Life given to a machine by some kind of magical process…nobody but the Old Race understands it," the Ender father spoke, but neither Darius nor I understood this.

"The Old Race? What the hell is he—"

"Never mind," I said sharply as the golem roars echoed throughout the corridor. "We've got bigger problems on our hands. Let's try to keep out of the main hallways—if he can't reach us, we've got a chance…"

All thoughts of recovering the Nether Stars had vanished with our new opponents. I was able to put one and one together successfully; the golems must have been the ones tearing through the Loyalist facilities. It made sense; giant metal monsters, able to take tens of thousands of bullets, smashing through the outpost and now through the fortress. The blunt trauma injuries also made sense now…the golems' fists were the size of a man's head, maybe even bigger…

"What's the plan, then? We still need those Stars," Darius said as we entered a lower level. The hallway was wide and open to the air of the Nether, but there was no sign of any iron golem. There weren't even bodies down here; it was disturbingly deserted.

"Yeah, but a wrench has been thrown into our plan…"

"I understand. But we still need to get there—there's no way we'll take down one of those golems."

"I see your point," I argued with Darius as we went further down the corridor. "But we'll have to—"

The Loyalist soldiers appeared out of nowhere, rounding the corner not ten feet from us. They were just as surprised to see us as we were to see them; luckily, our Enderman's reaction timing was instant. Before the Loyalists could raise their weapons or fire a single shot, he was behind them, tearing through the squad of six like a whirlwind. Neither of us were able to get a shot off; before _we _could raise our rifles, the men were all dead, lying at the feet of the Ender father.

"Nice…er…timing," Darius said dryly, breathing heavily. "They would have gotten us—"

"Before you got them. Be glad you had me," the Enderman said, nudging one of the armored bodies aside.

"Well, now we've got double the problems. Fantastic," I sighed, looking down at the bloodied corpses. Each one of them was dressed for battle; I wondered if they knew that their bullets would have no effect on the golems.

"We should be even more careful now," the Enderman suggested.

"Agreed—they're smarter than the golems, and they'll figure out that we're here—sooner than later."

Our problems were now even worse—the Loyalists were still here, the golems were hunting us, and we were split up once more. At one moment during our foray deeper into the stronghold, Herobrine appeared right in front of us. Darius and I both raised our respective weapons before realizing who he was; my heart was pounding faster than it had ever done so before.

"Sorry for the surprise—"

"I would have shot you, damnit," Darius cursed, stowing his Anaconda away furiously. "Don't do that—"

"Again, I'm sorry. I had difficulty finding you, Leon…this whole place is a cluster-mess."

"Yeah, you're certainly not the first to notice this, Hero," I said. I walked a bit further out onto one of the fortress balconies, one that looked down onto a massive reactor floating on the lava, attached to one of the pillars of the fortress. It was smoking and burning; there hadn't been an explosion, but fire leapt from every door and window of the reactor building.

"It's chaos, like I said," Hero spoke, standing behind me. "The golems are in control of the upper levels, I've discovered."

"So the Loyalists hold the bottom?"

"For now, yes. They're outnumbered, but I think they plan to blow the pillars—"

"And how do you know?" I asked him, now more concerned than before. Now it made sense why the first pillar had exploded earlier; a series of planned detonations, ones that would give them enough time to evacuate before the entire stronghold collapsed into the magma…

"The first explosion gave me a hint, and I saw a team of engineers equipped with plastic explosives earlier. Both dead, but nobody walks around with forty pounds of C4 strapped to their back. I can add one and one, Leon."

"Sorry…I didn't mean to offend you or anything," I apologized quickly, stepping away from the balcony.

"Not a—"

The reactor exploded behind me, and the shockwave threw everyone to the ground. The balcony we had been standing on collapsed, and parts of the roof and walls crumbled as the force of the explosion rippled throughout the fortress. With an intimidating groan, the stronghold began to shudder, feeling the force of the blast and beginning to fall apart. I saw massive chunks of brick and rock falling from above, smashing down into the thick, smoldering magma below. One of the pillars had been basically destroyed in the blast, now crumbling into dust, and another one had been damaged by the explosion.

"Damn…the whole place is going to come down soon," I mused when I recovered from the blast, struggling to my feet and gazing over the blasted ruins. The magma was swallowing the charred debris now, roaring back to replace the gap where the reactor room had once been, before it was severed from the fortress by the explosion.

"It won't last long. That's the second blast—I can't see the fortress standing up to another one," the Ender father noticed, standing right beside me. He gave me a helping hand up, the long black claws cutting into my exposed skin as he lifted my entire weight back onto my feet.

"What's causing all of these, anyway?" Darius asked, nervously tapping his Anaconda.

"The fire, maybe. I couldn't tell you, but I'd bet that the Loyalists are trying to bring this place down," I said.

"They'd kill themselves to kill us?"

"And keep those Nether Stars out of our hands. They'd rather see them burn in lava than fall into Secessionist hands—not the brightest line of thought."

"We're wasting time, Leon," Herobrine snapped, watching both of us as we spoke. "We need a plan, and fast—if the Loyalists _are _bringing this place down, then we don't have much time left. And don't forget the golems—"

As if to accentuate his point, at that moment a war cry rose from the upper levels, a metallic grinding that sounded like gears mashing together in a vitriol-fueled fury.

"Those golems," he added.

"Yeah…well, I don't know where they'd be stored…"

"Well, let's ask around, shall we? I'm sure some of the sentries would be happy to point it out to you," Darius mused sarcastically, laughing at his own joke. I stood over the broken edge of the hallway, jutting out over the sea of fire.

"I don't want us to split up any more…if anything, I want to find the others."

"It's not an option, Leon. Not right now," Herobrine warned, becoming irritated with each passing moment that we wasted.

"We can't just leave them for dead—"

"I didn't say that, did I?" Herobrine hissed. "I said that we need to get our priorities straight—and the Nether Stars are our priority now. _Not _the others."

What he said dug deep down inside; his words hurt, his lack of compassion or caring for the rest of our group. What if they were hurt, or dead, or captive? Did he even care _at all_? I wanted to lash out, to let go of the anger that I had collected over the last several weeks. But logic prevailed, and I knew that arguing the point further would only serve to divide our small, fractured group even more.

"Alright, alright…let's think here…they would store them in an area away from the entrances, right? Somewhere well-guarded, deep within the fortress…"

"You think it's even deeper down? Even farther?"

"Well, my logic is sound, isn't it? I say we go further down…even though we're at a larger risk—"

Herobrine was not positively excited about descending farther; in fact, he was leery as we walked down another set of stairs, going deeper into the stronghold. The air was hotter and thicker down here, closer to the lava sea. The stones and brick were hotter to the touch, and some of them were simply _too _hot to touch.

"Do you have any other ideas, Leon? We're wandering aimlessly down here," the Ender father pointed out, and both Darius and Herobrine nodded their assent.

"I don't know where I am…a map would be useful, but I doubt we could find something like it."

At that moment, another roar echoed throughout the redoubt, closer this time, and much louder. It was one of the golems; whether by coincidence, or us being discovered, it was drawing closer.

"Well, looks like we might have company soon," Herobrine ruminated, swinging his sword leisurely. "If we do, I'd suggest you all run—"

The golem appeared not twenty feet in front of us, stalking the deep corridors like a hunter going after prey. As soon as it noticed us, its red eyes lit up and it bellowed again, this time far louder and even more furious than before. Herobrine, who had just moments ago been bored with our endless wandering, went into combat mode instantly, raising his sword and standing in front of us.

"Get back, all of you—"

"Not this time, Hero, we're staying with you—"

"I SAID RUN!"

But we all stood our ground, as the iron golem charged. Granted, we moved to the side as it barreled into our half-god friend, but none of us retreated farther into the darkness of the fortress. Darius and I pounded fruitlessly away at the golem's metal armor in an attempt to distract it. The plan worked, to some extent; instead of whaling on Herobrine, who had been stunned by the blitz, it turned towards me and began charging, swinging its metal fists savagely. I was able to jump to the side, but one of the fists caught my leg and sent me high into the air, hitting one of the ceiling's support struts and knocking the wind out of me. I slumped back against the wall, hitting my tailbone hard on the brick floor.

The automaton aimed to finish me off with a massive fist of iron, but it seized up before it could even raise another fist. The red eyes flashed malevolently, its arms and legs stopped moving, and the creature plummeted to the ground in front of me, falling backwards just as a thin figure rushed out from beneath, carrying a flaming sword.

The iron golem was "dead", in a sense—since it was not truly a living, organic being it could not die, but it was disabled. Those red eyes glowed no more, and not a single gear or wire moved inside. Herobrine stood on top of the monster, holding his sword at arm's length.

"Perfect…timing," I choked, coughing up small amounts of blood as I tried to talk.

"Are you hurt badly?"

"Not too badly…nothing's broken, I can still walk…"

There was pain, certainly, but my leg was far from broken. I was bleeding from the impact against the ceiling, but nothing mortal.

"Well, that's good news. I was afraid it was worse," Herobrine said, sheathing his sword once more.

"How'd you do it?" I asked weakly, leaning against the hot wall.

"Put the sword into a chink between the neck and the back. That seemed to shut it down…temporarily, at least…" he said, glancing back at the silent hunk of iron. Darius approached it carefully, and nudged the head.

"It doesn't look like it will walk again," he announced.

"You think so. But it might surprise you—we'd better leave, in case it decides to wake again. I can't say for certain whether I shut it down permanently or not. Best not to take any chances."

We walked away from the iron giant as gunfire rang out again distantly, worrying me once more. What if it was the others? Did they run into trouble with the golems?

We heard more sounds from up ahead, and took up positions behind some storage crates to wait and see who was ahead. But instead of being a Loyalist patrol or another one of those damned golems, it was two friendlies. Miguel was supported by Shadow, and the former had obviously been wounded, although not badly.

"How bad is it?" I asked as they approached us, moving slowly.

"He's bleeding, but he'll make it. Hit by one of those iron golems," Shadow spoke through his mask, hauling Miguel with him.

"Anyone dead? Do you know about the others?"

"Joseph and Mouse are both dead—I saw Celine, Rina and Lance escaping, and no sign of Tala. That's all I can say, and that was nearly half an hour ago…before the second explosion."

"A lot could have happened in that time period," Darius said. "We'd best keep moving, we're sitting ducks if we stay around long."

"Where are we going? Do we have a plan?" Shadow asked, as Miguel struggled to stand on his feet, clearly weak and nauseous.

"Not really…we have no idea where the Nether Stars could _possibly _be, and the golems aren't making the situation any better."

Shadow wasn't happy to hear this; but he decided to continue with us nevertheless.

"It's as good as we've been doing. We've been wandering ever since the group got separated."

Now, Miguel and Shadow joined us as we descended even deeper into the stronghold. However, makeshift signs nailed to the walls told us that we were in the Storage section of the fortress, and this would be our best bet for finding any stores of Nether Stars.

xXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXx

Another fifteen minutes passed before we came upon two Loyalist soldiers, both injured, trying to force a door open. They had their weapons propped up against the wall, and neither of them noticed us before we raised our firearms. They both raised their arms high in the air, without even resisting.

"Hold 'em high, gents," Shadow taunted. "We don't want any blood spilled now…"

"Aw, shit, it's these guys…didn't Rho Squad go up to stop them?" one of the Loyalist soldiers cursed, looking right into my eyes.

"Must have been those iron things," the other spoke softly. I approached them and the door, studying both. The LED sign above the door simply said "Storage", and yet I had a feeling this was where we needed to be.

"What's in here?" I asked both of the guards, who were bandaged and bruised.

"Stuff."

"What kind of stuff, you dumb—"

"We store pretty much everything in there. Organization's kinda lax right now, everyone's still trying to put things together—"

A third explosion nearly knocked me off my feet, and sent a massive chunk of the ceiling crashing down near us, peppering all three of us with sharp bits of brick. The fortress now began to lean to one side just barely, unbalanced and damaged beyond repair.

"Shit, man, that's three out of four—"

"Three out of four what?!" I yelled angrily, stumbling to my feet.

"Reactors…there's four reactors, the engies were supposed to blow them all…"

The fortress was rocking violently now, leaning over at a hundred-degree angle; although this didn't sound like much, it was enough to put me off my feet, and I hit the wall right as another heavy bellow echoed throughout the lower levels.

Fifty feet ahead, coming out of one of the hallways, Celine, Rina, Tala and Lance ran at full speed, dashing around the corner as they were pursued by not one, but _two _iron golems, both fixated on their prey. As I tried to regain my balance, a massive boulder tumbled past me and smashed through the storage room doors, breaking through both frame and glass.

"Herobrine, get those iron golems! QUICK!"

Herobrine could do little to try to get behind the golems, so the Ender father assisted him, teleporting and distracting the beasts while the last four of my crew joined with me once more.

"Leon, are you—"

"There's no time for that, I need you to get all of the Nether Stars that you can and get out of here!"

Celine was dripping with sweat, and there was a nasty laceration slicing across her forehead. But she was alright, and she looked energetic and ready to fight.

"We need more time—"

"We don't have any! GO!"

She argued no more; she repeated my orders to the others as Herobrine ducked under a golem's arm, dodging the blows and attempting to jam his sword in their backs. I followed the others into the storage room, desperately seeking anything that looked remotely like a Nether Star.

There were some in here, at least two dozen; they were each concealed in glass cases, set in their own cubbyholes in the walls. Although they were mixed in with a collection of other supplies, ammunition boxes and junk, their unique glow made them easy enough to find.

"Grab as many as you can…"

"Leon, we're not going to make it out of here in time," Tala warned, as the building began to heave again.

"You two—is there any nearby exit?" I snapped to the Loyalists, who were hunkered down by the doorway.

"Uh…I don't know—"

"Is there?!"

"Close by…go back where you came from, take a right down the small corridor, and you'll come to an island…it's connected back to the main area, it should take you safely to the portal—"

"Alright, Shadow, did you get all of that?" I asked the Ranger, who nodded. In the background, Herobrine brought one of the golems down, driving his flaming blade deep into the back of its neck.

"Get the others out of here. Take as many Stars as you can, get back to the portal—"

"And what about you?"

"I'm coming with you, just a second—"

The ground beneath me caved in, and I thought I was gone for sure. I was suddenly falling through thick, hot air, certainly down into the magma sea that awaited me below…

And yet I hit hard ground, hard, hot brick that was warm to the touch. I was less than fifty feet above that boiling, roiling fiery mass, exposed to the noxious fumes and hot gases that escaped from it. I had fallen about twenty feet, but luckily had escaped unscathed. The last thing I saw from up above was Shadow's face peering down.

"Leon, goddamnit, are you—"

"I'm ok, I'm ok," I managed, listening to the sounds of combat coming from above. "Get the others out of there, Shadow…"

"And what about you?"

"I'll find my way back up, do as I tell you!" I yelled at him. Without arguing further, Shadow fled from the aperture, leaving me to find my way out of the crumbling fortress.

The view was spectacular from below; I could see chunks falling out of the corridors and spires of the fortress, splashing into the lava and dissolving forever. The last pillar was crumbling already, and was right next to one of the burning reactors, one that would certainly go off any minute. The other three reactors were destroyed, along with most of the pillars supporting the bulk of the Nether brick.

It was an awe-inspiring sight, but something that I could not see any longer. I had to escape; the entire building would fall on me if I did not, or else I would burn in lava. I ran throughout the endless corridors, the abandoned sections that made up the very bottom of the stronghold. The structure above me creaked and groaned menacingly, as I saw several small helicopters take off from above. I prayed that one of them contained my friends, that they had somehow managed to find a craft and fly it to safety…

_The Loyalist had told me about the other exit…was he lying? His own life was at stake…he must have been telling the truth, there must have been a way out…_

After another two long minutes of running, I arrived at what must have been the holy grail at that moment. As the fortress fell apart, the last reactor crumbling chaotically into the lava, I found a single helicopter at the very bottom of the fortress, not ten feet above the lava. It was unmanned, but there was my escape route…my only way out…

And like an oncoming truck, the sizzling prong stabbed me in the back, driving me to the ground as electricity raced through my body. I could feel, think, and see, but I could not move. Escape, salvation, was so close…and yet I had never been so far away from it. Rough hands picked me up, manhandling me up into the bay of the helicopter. They were armored, except for the one figure…a woman…

"It's unfortunate, Leon Walker, that we had to meet like this. I'm sure you're glad to be out of here…very soon, you'll be in good hands, I promise…"

Something about that voice told me that my fate would be completely opposite.


	44. In the Hands of the Enemy

**Hello everyone! This is a relatively quick update, since I'm very excited about these final few chapters. With Thanksgiving break, I've been working quite a bit on writing, so another chapter should be out by the weekend. No promises, as always, but I'll do my best.**

**And another note before review answers: this chapter pushes the rating farther than I have ever done before. It's not particularly gruesome or violent, but there is semi-explicit nudity (no intercourse or anything like that) and some other…things. It's not gruesome, but it will be intense, and it certainly pushes the rating. So just warning you.**

**HPE24: Yep, it's her. She's awesome :D**

**PigeonFligher: Yes, got tasered by a woman. And if you don't like torture, you might not like this…I won't give too much away. Let me just say that it's not OVER THE TOP. I don't want to spoil anything. And you haven't written too much yet…I still need to get back to reading Luin. It's been awhile o_O**

**Woohooman14: I'm glad that you reacted well to Joseph's death. He was useful, and I liked him as a character—a mysterious military sniper. I hope that you find that he served well.**

**BlakeyBoy: Go right ahead. I don't mind.**

**TerrarianCreeper: Living RPG. That needs to be a thing. Anyway, the golems **_**are **_**shut down if you pierce them in the soft spot. And they don't show up because they have NO signatures—magic doesn't show up on monitors like that. They're magical…and yes, everyone made it out safely. Except for poor Leon.**

**Who would I want at my side? Well, this might be a bit long, but I've been playing Fallout: New Vegas lately, and one of my companions, a sniper named Boone, has saved my ass more times than I can count by excelling at long-range head destruction with a sniper rifle. So, I'd choose Joseph—because he'd just mess everyone up at long range. Gotta love snipers :D**

**xXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXx**

He stood alone, in the dress of his enemies, waiting for the right moment.

The twenty pounds of plastic explosives strapped to his chest were concealed beneath a set of bulletproof armor, something he had received upon taking the job of "sector guard" three months ago. That was before the crisis, when government officials were moved out west secretly to work on the fusion reactor projects that had been started.

When the funding was cut, the scientists left, but the guards stayed to watch over the equipment. He had been there through all of it, during the crisis, during the exodus, when the scientists came back and work began once more…

But he had switched sides during the entire process. Now a Secessionist, he had kept his true motives hidden while going to work on a perfectly normal day, waiting for the time to strike. The reactor that powered the portal was such a sweet target…he would be sacrificing his life to be a suicide bomber, to hit the enemy where it would kill them…

xXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXx

I seem to have a knack for falling into the wrong hands.

I sat in the plain white room, my hands unbound but unable to leave the interrogation chamber. The walls, the floor, the ceiling, all bleached a sterilized and disgusting white, almost like that of a hospital. The lone incandescent lightbulb dangling on a brass chain from the ceiling gave me the only light in the room. As far as I could tell, nobody was watching.

The only door was forcefully thrown open by a rough, official-looking man in military fatigues carrying a dossier and a handgun. To my relief, he set the handgun in its holster, attached to his hip, and threw the dossier on the table. Out of the folder spilled numerous sheets of paper; I recognized several photos of myself at different ages in the papers.

"This is _your _file folder. We know everything about you, Leon Walker…everything we need to know is in this folder."

The man spoke roughly, sounding as though he had some form of degenerating throat cancer. To nobody's surprise, he withdrew a small cigarette from a box in his pocket and lit it slowly, savoring the smoke.

"You seem to be a failure in life. Very few accomplishments in your early age…flunked out of _three _colleges, involved in at least four individual car accidents…_killed _one of your friends while playing with a creeper…"

The official was ticking off every embarrassing moment of my life ever since I had graduated from highschool. Unfortunately, most of it was true; I had flunked out of three colleges within a year and a half, I was a terrible driver, and I had tried to pull a prank…but failed horribly.

"Tsk, tsk. You look like a failure to me…up until the past several weeks. I don't think we need to go over that, now do we?"

It was a rhetorical question; he was not expecting an answer, and was clearly satisfied with my bitter silence. He puffed out several rings of smoke before standing upright and collecting the menagerie of papers from the table.

"If you lie to us, we'll know it. Keep that in mind, Mr. Walker. It's time," he called, and the doors opened once more, admitting an incredibly attractive woman in her twenties, with long brunette hair and the same fatigues as the official, but cleaner and crisper.

"I've already warmed him up for you, ma'am—"

"Thank you, Lieutenant. Your services are no longer necessary, and you are free to go," the woman spoke sharply, and the lieutenant backed away curtly, closing the doors shut without letting the woman out of his sight. He had apparently felt insulted.

"I apologize if my first lieutenant was a bit—rough around the edges, let's say," the woman spoke, sitting across from me. The tiny bulb illuminated just enough of her to allow me to get an accurate portrayal; her features, both her skin and face, reminded me of Celine. She was young and smooth, her wavy brunette hair reflecting the dim light of the bulb.

"So…you are Leon Walker. It's a pleasure to finally meet you…"

"A pleasure? You think it's a 'pleasure'?" I sneered, not impressed. "Don't try to patronize me—"

"If you assume automatically that I'm patronizing you, then you're completely wrong. I mean to do nothing of the sort," she fired back, offended.

"Then what are you trying to accomplish?"

"A civilized conversation. And I still hope to have one."

At that moment, the doors flew open again, admitting a well-dressed man in servant's livery, bearing a platter with a bottle of brownish brandy and two glasses on it. He set the platter inbetween my interrogator and myself, and left in quite a hustle.

"Brandy? Do you drink?" the woman asked, her tone slightly sharper now.

"I don't think so—"

"Are you afraid that I'm trying to poison you? Paranoid, are we?"

I did not answer, simply remaining silent.

"If I had wanted you dead, Leon, I would have killed you back in the Nether. Believe me…so please, take a glass. It would be refreshing."

The woman who had tasered me in the back and hauled me into some godforsaken interrogation chamber in some remote bunker was now offering me a cool drink. The conditions were unusual, but I accepted grudgingly, taking the bottle of brandy and pouring a generous amount into my shot-glass. The alcohol was fiery and warm, but it was soothing as well, and helped relieve the tension that I felt.

"So…on to business…"

"What is it that you want? You're obviously interrogating me," I said.

"Interrogation is a strong word. That will be reserved for if you don't cooperate. _If _you don't…I must stress that if. Cooperate with me, and you'll be out of here in no time."

"And if I don't cooperate?"

"Are you even considering it?" she asked.

"Not necessarily…"

"Then we resort to stronger methods. Which I'd rather not do today—I think you'll find that working with me will be smooth and easy. Shall we begin?" she asked, more cheerful now. Compared to her clean, pristine figure, I was a complete mess; bloody, sooty, covered with ash and dirt and reeking of blood, which had stained my shirt somehow.

"Your name?" I asked, downing the rest of the brandy.

"Mina Wycokrwyz. You are familiar?"

"I've heard of you…you _do _fit the image that some of the common soldiers gave you."

"A hard, cold-hearted military leader with a fist of iron? Maybe," Mina laughed, standing up and pacing casually around the room. "I don't want to sound full of myself, but I'm a good tactician. But I'm not some icy bitch like I'm made out to be—rather the opposite."

"Really? I'm not seeing 'warm and fuzzy' in you…perhaps it's the room?" I mused. Instead of being angry or frustrated, Mina laughed, almost giggled like a young schoolgirl. She seemed carefree and innocent; I didn't see a brutal tactician inside her.

"Well, I wouldn't say warm or fuzzy…but certainly welcoming. I've been a gracious host so far, have I not?"

"I'll begrudge you that, I guess…"

"Of course. So you know me, and I know _all _about you…and I'm willing to forget quite a bit of it. Your past is your past…there's nothing you can do about it now, and we'll pretend that what you've done in your youth never existed," Mina said.

"Just erase it all?"

"All of it—like it _never _happened. Hell, we'll even print new records if you want," she promised, sitting down again.

"Ok…so what's the catch? What do you want to know?"

"I think you very well know what we want, Leon," Mina said, her voice darker now.

"Something to do with your portal, isn't it?"

"Precisely," she said.

"Well…I don't know much about this 'portal' of yours. Nobody really told me anything, except for Silas Lithgow…"

For the first time, Mina's demeanor became ugly. It was startling to me, and it wouldn't be the first time. But I listened intently as she smeared Lithgow.

"That blundering fool? He couldn't tell you the difference between his head and his ass…he _was _president, but he did a horrible job. All this trash about 'unification' and 'the future of our race'…I'm almost glad he died. He would have lost the war."

"That's a bit…er…harsh…"

"Yes, it's harsh," she admitted. "But it's the truth. His talk about our project is probably uninformative, so I'll give you the bare details."

For ten minutes, Mina filled me in on the major details about the portal. It was supposed to be capable of breaching time and space, and would be able to access a dimension known as "Earth", which remained mysterious to me. If Mina knew anything about it, she didn't let on; she told me about how an object called an "Ender pearl", recently used in scientific studies, could provide more than enough power to charge the portal up and activate it.

"The pearl is key—it contains enough energy to power the portal, and even more. It's a holy grail…"

She paused momentarily.

"Do you understand how much it means to us?"

"I think so…"

"This world has come to ruin, Leon. Don't you see what we've done to it? Pollution, urban sprawl, violence and destruction…we've ruined this world of ours. There's no way to sustain ourselves anymore, not here at least."

"And your point is?" I asked.

"This is a new world for us…we've ruined this one, there will be no use left in it. A fresh start…and the power that the pearl could give to us, it would be fuel for a new civilization…a new start, Leon…"

"For your people, of course. Not mine…"

She ignored this rebuttal, and continued.

"Earth would be our new home…we could forget the past, all the sins we've committed…yes, the Secessionists stand in the way. They will not bend to our terms—"

"Which are highly one-sided. I've heard what the terms are—"

"Do _not _forget who started this civil war. It was your valued Secessionists…they rebelled against the government," she argued firmly.

"The government that half-assed everything. I saw the evacuations and the chaos first hand…what do you expect people to do when the government leaves so many thousands behind and botches dozens of evacuations?"

Mina was choking, essentially; she could not find words to craft a rebuttal to my point, which was very valid.

"We…_the government_…do not forgive such treacherous actions. The Secessionists will pay, and those loyal to the republic shall be gifted with the fruits of the Garden of Eden, the fresh world of Earth."

She seemed to regain some of her composure after this.

"I remind myself of Lithgow, sometimes. My dreams are so farfetched…but I am not a blasted idealist like him. _This _can be a reality for us…and for you, as well, Leon."

"You said that my treason is unforgivable—"

"You did not secede from the union of your own will," she reminded me. "You fell into the wrong hands, and had no idea that they were the enemy of the union. _That _I am willing to forgive."

"But I've done so much to undermine your war efforts, haven't I?" I asked, unsure of why I was pushing the argument further. This interrogation hadn't gone violent or anything of the sort; rather, it was quite peaceful.

"I do not need to be reminded," she whispered, staring me down. "But I am still willing to forgive it. Even for your friends…I can grant them amnesty, along with you. All I need to know…is where the pearl is."

I shrugged again.

"I don't know where it is."

"You've had possession of it before…you're the only living person who knows so much about it. You've even touched it…I need your help, Leon—"

"I am aware of that, but I'm afraid that I cannot do anything for you," I said.

"And why is that? There is so much I can offer you…"

"I have no idea where the pearl is. If I don't know anything else about it, then I have nothing to offer," I said, shrugging to emphasize my point.

"You lie," she charged.

"You don't know that—"

"I very well do. I can see it in your eyes, Leon. Your eyes tell tales that your tongue refuses to—and I can read them, plain as day."

She was right; I knew exactly where the pearl was. True, it was in _very_safe hands, with Herobrine, but if she found out…there would be no stopping the tide that would roar in.

"I'm not lying—"

"Stop lying to me," she snapped, colder and angrier now. "I want to be friendly here, and you're making it all the harder. All I ask is for you to help me—"

"And why should I help you? This is an interrogation, remember…aren't you supposed to _force _the location out of me?"

"I don't wish to do that, Leon," she said. "I wanted this to be civilized, and I wanted you to work with me. You can still do that…you know what _I _want to know. And you know how it can benefit you."

"My friends and myself, yes…but I can't say that I support your government. I've chosen my side, and I'm sorry that you don't like it. But I came into this war a neutral party—and what I saw disgusted me. This pointless war…and your troops have no common decency," I charged angrily.

"Prove—"

"I've seen rape, murder, looting…both with my own eyes, and on a screen. You order your troops to do more than is necessary. You _relish _the blood of your countrymen…Lithgow was better than you—"

"Lithgow would have lost the war!" Mina seethed, now angrier than ever. "He was a prat, a kindergartener. He was a mind-numbingly stupid, motherfucking moron with no military or political sense! He would have brought only hardship and famine—"

"Which is exactly what you've brought, isn't it?"

This time, she stopped for at least thirty seconds, not even bothering to respond—she had turned her back on me, staring at the double doors. I had argued so fiercely that she was left with very little to work off of. Unfortunately, that would turn out to have negative consequences for me.

"Leon…do you think I look attractive?"

"Excuse me?"

"Answer me honestly. Do you think I look attractive?" she asked, turning back around.

"Uh…I guess so…yeah…"

The direction that this conversation had turned disturbed me greatly. What was she trying to accomplish, exactly?

"I know that you're telling the truth this time…that's good…"

"What are you trying to do?" I asked, trying to keep my voice from wavering. I couldn't lie; her complete change of attitude was unnerving.

"I'll find out where that pearl is, one way or another…I have my ways of getting what I want, you know," she sang devilishly, moving back towards me.

"You're crazy—"

"Far from it…I'm brilliant. Many mistake me for being crazy…but it's far from the truth. I have ways to get what I want, Leon…and it's unfortunate that I have to use them. It would have been much easier to talk."

Slowly, she unbuttoned her fatigues, all the way down in a straight line. I kept my composure straight, staring blankly ahead, knowing that if I revealed anything, our cause would go up in smoke.

"This isn't…necessary," I said, wincing as she opened the uniform up, revealing that she wore nothing underneath it. Mina was a beautiful woman; slender, soft, and attractive in every way, shape and form. But beneath that sexy figure beat a cold, unrelenting heart.

"Are you afraid? Do you fear me…a naked woman, helpless, exposing herself to the elements? What is there to fear?"

"Nobody but myself," I said, wincing as she drew closer. She did not shed the fatigues, but opened them enough for everything from waist up to be exposed. It was true, though; if I succumbed to my base desires, I would give everything away. The only thing I had to fear was myself.

"Well said…but why should you resist?"

"You've given me plenty of reason to separate myself from the government. Your black ops soldiers…killed so many of my friends…"

"I realize that you've lost so much, Leon," Mina said, standing over me. "And you must know that I did not give those orders—Lithgow foolishly spilt so much blood over something that could have been far easier to retrieve. But you will lose so much more…if you don't tell me where it is."

"Is that a threat?"

"No…it's a fact. A statement, if you will."

Mina did not give up. In several seconds, she had tossed aside the rest of her clothing. The tall, intimidating military commander was now completely nude, with nothing to conceal her own personal "Nether".

"I can do so much for you Leon…think about it. You just tell me what I want to know, and everything will turn out for the better…you can trust me."

At that point, there was no situation that would be _too _awkward. She mounted me, sitting on top of my lap and wrapping her slender arms around my back, giving me the uncomfortable feeling that I couldn't really describe. Her naked breasts pressed into my chest, her face inches away from mine.

"You and me, Leon…you give me what I want, and I promise you, I'll give you _more _than you can possibly imagine."

The primal urge was powerful; it was an instinct born out of the very first man, and something that pressured me to accept her offer, no matter what the cost.

"No."

"I…what?"

"I won't tell you…no matter what you offer me. The answer is no."

I did it without wavering, without seeming hesitant. Mina was definitely taken aback, but her response was _not _what I was expecting.

"Very well, then…I was hoping that I would be able to accomplish that—"

"You tried to seduce me," I stated plainly.

"Yes…that is obvious," she grated, still nude but now rising up off of me. "Men are always seduced easily…it is in their nature. I thought you were the same as other men, and apparently I was wrong."

I was concerned about her tone of voice—she was speaking plainly, as if she wasn't offended or angry. Rather, she was almost speaking monotonically.

"It's quite unfortunate, really…I _was _looking forward to enjoying you. But you had to do it the hard way," she said, stepping back into the uniform and buttoning it up as I still sat there, watching nervously. "It's time, gentlemen."

The door burst open, admitting several armed and armored men carrying a tray of what looked like dark, murky liquid in glass bottles. They sat the tray forcefully down on the table, and two of them grabbed me forcefully, holding me back into the chair. Mina, now fully clothed, looked as intimidating as ever; if this was shock-and-awe, it was certainly working. I was _definitely _in shock, wondering what the hell she was doing.

"Leon, you leave me no choice. You're one of the most interesting men I've ever men, and I hate to have to do this. But…you left me _no _choice."

She picked up one of the glass bottles, examining the liquid inside.

"It's funny, how potioneering was once outlawed by the government…deemed harmful to the population, what with all the side effects…"

"What the hell are you—"

"Do you recognize this?" she asked me, holding up the small bottle.

"No, how would I? I never studied potions," I spat, angrily trying to escape the grasp of the armored, masked men. They held me tight against the back of the chair, however.

_What is she doing? What the hell is that stuff? Is it a potion?_

"It's called a 'Potion of Harming'…interesting name, very well suits its effects…"

"What are you going to do—"

"While it won't directly damage the human body in small amounts, it does cause quite a bit of pain…and in larger amounts, it will damage you. With enough potion in a short amount of time death is…_imminent_."

That smile would haunt me forever; her teeth were perfect and beautiful, but her smile seethed hatred and loathing.

"Apply the first bottle. We'll see if he talks right away," Mina ordered, standing aside as one of the men grabbed a bottle and uncorked it. The other two, the idle ones, forced my mouth wide open, as I struggled and fought against them. They were heavyset brutes, bodyguards or something like that, and there would be no escaping them.

"Pour it all down. If he can talk afterwards, I'm sure he'll have something to say," Mina smiled hatefully, her cold heart now apparent to me. She was a soft, kind woman on the outside…but on the inside lurked her true form, her hateful personality…

The bottle inched closer and closer, and I knew that the pain would be searing, a burning like I would have never felt before…

But the explosion came at the perfect moment; from where I did not know, but the entire building shook violently as some kind of unearthly roar was heard from below. Part of the ceiling collapsed, the potion spilled out of the man's hand, every single bottle was knocked over…and the doors flew open, off of their hinges.

The men were all on the floor, including me, knocked over by the force of the blast. But I was the first one up; unrestrained, with no ropes to bind me, I dashed out of the room, nearly tripping over one of the heavyset men as I ran.

"Don't let him get out! GET HIM! GO!" I heard some hoarse voice cry behind me, but it was too late. Summoning all my strength, I thanked whoever had caused that explosion and ran out of the interrogation room, towards freedom…


	45. Precipice

**This chapter is shorter than most. I am fully aware of that, but I think that making it any longer would have detrimental effects for the story.**

**I never have much to say in author's notes, do I? I just realized that. Hmm.**

**HPE24: I know that you're angry when you swear…so you're angry. I can tell. O.O**

**That whole scene was squirm-worthy, and was designed to be. I'm glad it worked.**

**Eta7400: It was just some random guy. But the effects of their explosion will be massive.**

**PigeonFligher: No physical torture…but yes, that nudity scene. I find psychological torture worse than physical torture, and I would classify that as psychological. And you'd be rich if you had a dollar for every time he made an amazingly cliché escape :D**

**BlakeyBoy: I'll take that link. It'll certainly be worthwhile.**

**xXXXXXXXXXXXXx**

Notch knew that feeling; that feeling of connection, like he was plugged in again. Something had happened in the _MINECRAFT _simulation; whatever had happened, he could feel a connection to it again, something he had not known for two weeks at least.

Hurriedly, he rushed to his office at the Mojang Headquarters—he was already there for some late night work on the game itself—and burst into the room where the simulation was contained.

There sat the massive ten foot by ten foot cube that contained ten years' worth of hard labor and ingenuity: the _real _Minecraft. What Notch had given to the world, a sandbox simulator, was only the beginning. Over the past six or seven years, his entire team had been working on a project known only to the top officials of the world, something that would revolutionize the digital age and bring humanity to a new technological stepping stone. Everything was code, but it all felt _so _real: the people, the technology, the cities, the vehicles. He had made it far more advanced than normal Minecraft, keeping the basic layout while bringing the simulation into the modern age.

Notch stepped into the cube, implanting himself into the "border world" from which he controlled and changed the simulation. In a few seconds, he had left reality, and entered his own creation.

Notch rushed to his console in the border world, realizing that he must speak with his brother, and urgently. Over the past week, the power of the portal had grown stronger, disabling Notch's means of communication with anyone inside of the simulation. Now, he had only one chance; the portal disruptions had ended for some mysterious reason, and he had only a single chance to speak with Herobrine.

"Brother…can you hear me?" Notch asked, speaking to his brother. This was how he communicated; not directly, but telepathically—at least with his long-gone sibling.

"I can…I can hear you, yes…where the hell—"

"There's no time, brother! I have a task that I need you to do—it's important, crucial to the survival of our worlds—"

"Where have you been all of this time? I've been trying to contact you!" Herobrine answered angrily.

"The portal, brother—the portal!"

"What about it?"

"It blocks communication…whatever kind of discharge it gives off, I cannot communicate with anyone, especially not you!"

"Then how are you speaking to me now?" Herobrine asked. Notch looked down upon the world; one half of it was shrouded with a massive cloud of ash and dust, and the other half was scarred with the marks of war. He could zoom in and see burned-out vehicles, the smoldering ruins of cities and towns, and could see heavy fighting around the capital of the government, the city called "Terra Nova".

"The portal is…offline, for the moment. But it has to be destroyed—"

"What do you mean, destroyed?"

"Destroyed! It cannot be allowed to exist—it poses a threat to both of our worlds, they will both be destroyed if you don't—"

The connection cut almost instantly after that. Notch had no idea what happened, but he could speak to his brother no longer. The fate of Minecraft, and Notch's own world, was now in the hands of his brother and a certain Leon Walker.

xXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXx

I didn't stop running until I had reached open air, bursting through an open set of doors into the rusty light of the afternoon. It was then I realized that I was in Terra Nova; there was no mistaking the tall skyscrapers and casinos that rose against the rust-red backdrop of dusk.

And yet something was wrong. Several of the titan buildings were smoldering or burning, and jets roared overhead, countless tiny specks like miniature insects, rolling around and barreling past the buildings engaging in furious dogfights.

I had encountered no resistance on my run down; there was nobody in the hallways of the base, no guards and no officials. Not a single person had caught up to me, and I realized that I had escaped—granted, I was still deep in enemy territory.

The front gates to the compound were both thrown wide open; the burning remains on an APC sat squat in the middle of the two gateposts, still smoldering from whatever had hit it. I was able to squeeze past the wreckage and, for the first time, enter the city of Terra Nova.

The streets were almost completely deserted; most of the city was orderly and clean, but here and there cars and wreckage burned, and the charred wrecks of several planes had slammed into buildings or streets, leaving gaping holes and large craters where they had landed. From what I could tell, the city was under siege; I was assuming that the FMA had gained the upper hand and was now pressing their advantage.

As I looked up, I recognized the massive, cylindrical structure that rose above me as the Governmental Center, the seat of the "republic" that the Loyalists represented. The skyscraper was untouched by the ravages of war—for now at least—and it stood, stark and austere, against the backdrop of the coming night. What little light was given off by the flashes of gunfire up above and the fires in the city made the silhouette of the structure visible and awe-inspiring.

And then, to ruin the moment, the all-too-familiar click of a gun behind me.

"Thought you could get away, didn't you?"

One soldier, dressed in full uniform, stood behind me, a single pistol drawn on the back of my head. I recognized him from his facemask; it was unique, and he had been pinning my arms back during my brief interrogation session. _He _had been following me this entire time; whether or not he planned to kill me, I wasn't sure.

"Are you going to pull the trigger?"

"I don't plan on it, no…I'm going to haul your ass back there straight away."

"I'd rather you shoot," I called back, still turned away from him. From what I could tell, he was back at the main entrance, standing in the gateway, pointing whatever weapon he held straight at my head.

"I'm afraid that you don't get to make that choice, pal—"

He stopped in midsentence as the air exploded with the roar of a gunshot. I turned around just in time to see the decapitated corpse fall over, slumping against the side of the gatepost not twenty feet away. The gun clattered away onto the pavement as the dead guard fell.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw a waving hand, beckoning me over into the relatively untouched hulk of a villa-style apartment building. Unsure of what to do, I slowly trekked over to the building, seizing the dead soldier's weapon as I walked—for all I knew, I would need it soon.

The eeriness of the whole situation was unnerving; the city deserted, the lights off, a massive dogfight raging amongst the spires and towers of Terra Nova. It was entirely possible, though highly unlikely, that the only two human beings left in the metropolis were me and my mysterious savior, the sniper.

But that was proven to be untrue when the ground-level door of the apartment swung open as I approached, admitting me into a lobby full of gruff, unshaven men bearing assault rifles and shotguns. They all wore the insignia of the FMA, the Secessionists; at least they marked themselves as friendly, even though they didn't seem very happy to see me.

"Nice timing, Captain. You wandered out there right as we set up our sentry," someone in the back of the room said. A hulking figure pushed its way through the crowd of unclean fighters and introduced himself as the commander of this "guerilla" unit.

"You were…waiting for me?"

"For a few hours, yes. We had just posted our sentries when one of them spotted you high-tailing it out of that headquarter complex."

The commander briefed me on the events of the past few hours: in a daring assault, Inazawa's armored forces had smashed into the Mellifluous Dunes and routed most of the Loyalist forces, and were now besieging the city. With my disappearance, underground guerilla units had been ordered to search Terra Nova for me and wreak havoc inside the city, to confuse the beleaguered defenders.

"So you knew that I was in there?"

"We had a hunch," the commander responded, leading me up into one of the abandoned rooms were a temporary command post had been established by the guerilla forces. "We were about to storm the building—which would've been a stupid idea, I admit."

"Where is everyone?" I asked, staring out the grimy window. The cityscape was barren and abandoned; the jets flew overhead, barreling and dodging each other, but not a human soul in sight.

"Who?"

"The people…civilians, military, I don't know—"

"Civilians are either underground or out of the city. Nobody's out on the streets tonight—snipers get them, bombers get them, artillery gets them. They were definitely caught off guard, not expecting an offensive like this. If Inazawa plays her hand right, she'll have the capital by morning."

_This _was better news than I had expected. With a friendly army outside of the capital city, the war _could _end within a day—that was if Inazawa thought out her plan of action.

"I'm supposed to get you to friendly territory, anyway. You're not supposed to be here, Captain," the commander said as an explosion rocked a nearby neighborhood.

"Where are we going, then?" I asked as he began to step out of the room, going back down the stairs.

"The High Commander's camp. I've got to smuggle you out of this damned city."

xXXXXXXXXXXXx

Notch scanned the programming of Minecraft, trying to identify how much time was left before the portal ruptured.

He knew this much: that something had happened with the "portal" that the Loyalists possessed, and that if it were given enough time, its reflux would tear the fabric of the simulation into pieces, which would damage both worlds beyond repair. Notch had created a dangerous invention, something that could now only be stopped from the inside.

As he scanned through the code, something caught his eye. Something that wasn't supposed to be there…

_What the hell is all of this? I didn't code for this…_

The lines of numbers were unfamiliar to him—upon translation, he detected that it had been created only a few days ago, by someone at Mojang.

But the only person who had been working at Mojang recently was…Jeb. Everyone else was out for their Christmas holiday break; Jeb was the only one who had volunteered to stay, both to work on the game update and keep an eye on the simulation.

_He's been working on this…what has he been doing?_

Translating the code would take some time and effort, and Notch was curious as to what his second-in-command had been working on. Jeb was supposed to check in with Notch before implementing anything new into the sim—and he hadn't done so ever since returning from New York several days back. So what _had _he been doing?

Footsteps echoed down the hall of the main office; Notch knew that there was only one person who would enter headquarters at this hour.

It was time to confront Jeb, and figure out what he had been doing.

xXXXXXXXXXXXx

The route through the underground of Terra Nova was short; in less than half an hour we were out in the open desert, trekking through a rocky basin to the safety of the nearest Secessionist outpost. There, I was taken to the High Commander's command post, which enjoyed a clear view of the siege atop a massive sand dune overlooking Terra Nova.

"Safe and sound, commander," the scout reported as he delivered me to Carstone, who was waiting in reserve for me. "As you asked."

"Thank you, Sergeant. Bring word back to your group that it's time for you to go in—do as much damage as you can. Sabotage—spread the word," Carstone ordered. The scout, who had delivered me to safety, saluted and left, running back into the desert and into the safety of the stone-strewn basin below our dune.

"Well, glad to have you back, Captain," Carstone welcomed me as we stood at the edge of the dune. "Quite a sight, isn't it?"

The entire battlefield looked like a campus of toy soldiers and tiny vehicles. Hundreds of friendly artillery pieces, lined up immaculately, lobbed shells over the concrete walls of the city, as tiny specks that barely looked like tanks and trucks moved back and forth. Overhead, jets continued to fight each other for supremacy, and the artillery fire from outside was answered by mortars from inside. The entire scene must have been chaotic, but it felt almost tranquil from a distance, the flashing lights and the puffs of smoke from each explosion.

"Did this all happen while I was gone?"

"Inazawa pulled it off brilliantly. The enemy was distracted—mainly because of their Nether base being completely destroyed—and we took them by surprise. If things go as planned, we'll have the city by dawn," Carstone reported optimistically, and then frowned. "Well…there's a bit of a problem, though. Let me take you to Inazawa, she can explain…better than me."

From our observation point on the dune, we descended onto a plateau that was a menagerie of tents, supply dumps and people, all milling about with their own business. Carstone, fighting against the crowd of soldiers, brought me to a large tent housing everything that a command center needed. In the middle, surrounding a digital map of Terra Nova, were Inazawa, Dr. Caldwell, Celine and Captain Greenwell.

Upon entry, I was almost knocked to the ground by Celine, who threw her arms around me with such force that I had to stagger backwards, almost out of the tent. Caldwell and Lance smiled warmly, but Inazawa had no time for such playful behavior.

"There will be time for happy reunions later, both of you," she snapped coldly, and Celine withdrew her arms reluctantly, and turned back around.

"I'm sorry—"

"I understand the attachment between you two, but we have pressing matters at hand. According to Dr. Caldwell here…the fate of the world is now at stake. He can explain," she said, and Caldwell cleared his throat.

"Ah…well…apparently, one of the guerilla fighters inside the city decided it was a _lovely _idea to bomb one of the reactors that powers this 'portal' that the Loyalists possess. You know anything about the portal, Leon?"

"I've heard a little," I lied, deciding it was best not to tell the full story. Mina's plan was insane—a dimensional portal to a peaceful land known as "Earth"—and I didn't think it would be wise to bring it up at the moment.

"Well, we know pretty much all about it. And I assume you know enough to know that this portal, without its power source, is _incredibly _unstable."

I nodded, and Caldwell continued.

"Well, this portal is without a power source…and it's become _very _unstable. Within a few hours—"

"It will explode. And not just in the sense of a regular explosion," Inazawa interrupted. "It's…"

"A quantum disruption," Caldwell explained when the commander faltered. "Essentially, the portal has bonds to this world called 'Earth' through some means we don't quite understand. If the portal erupts, then those bonds will conduct the quantum energy to both worlds, shattering both. If they are not completely destroyed during this event, they will suffer incredible damage. Continents broken into pieces, oceans dried out, mountains crumbling to the sea…the stuff of Armageddon."

"Essentially, Leon, if the portal is not shut down, both worlds will be destroyed. They won't be able to get the power source back online before that," Inazawa said.

"Which means that we need to go in there and shut the portal down manually—we're the only ones who can," Caldwell said.

"Why us? Why can't they do it?" I asked, right before noticing Herobrine standing in the corner behind Inazawa. The white-eyed phantom, as quiet as ever, slowly withdrew the ender pearl from his pocket, and restored it without a word.

"The pearl," Caldwell said, sounding rather exasperated. "It can shut down the portal safely—that is why we are the only ones who can do it. We have the means to do so."

"So you want me to do it, then?" I asked.

"You're the one most capable for the job. You've performed admirably so far, Captain," Inazawa spoke. "I can only trust something of this magnitude to you, and your team. Whomever that might be."

"You want me to assemble a team, infiltrate the Loyalist headquarters, and—"

"Shut off that portal. Whatever it takes to do so," Inazawa said. There was no mistaking her serious tone; this _had _to be done, and time was running out. "Make your decisions now, Captain. We are low on time."

I turned to Celine, but turned away almost instantly afterwards.

_No…I'm not putting her in harm's way. Not again._

She was puzzled as I turned to Lance, away from her.

"Get Darius, Shadow and Tala…if they're present—"

"The two Rangers are ready. And Darius is waiting in an adjacent tent," Lance reported. "You want them?"

"Yes, and hurry. That should be enough of us."

As I rushed out of the tent to gear up, Celine had to have a word. I knew what she wanted to say; and I was afraid that she would force me to take her along.

"I'm not going to stay here and wait for you to come back!" she hissed when we were in private, inside the quartermaster's station. There was nobody in there but us; even the quartermaster had departed, if only temporarily.

"I don't want to put you in danger again—"

"_You _put me in danger? I put myself in danger before, to fight alongside you! And you're refusing me that opportunity—it's not your decision!"

"But I want you to be safe—not risk your life again!"

"So I should wait here, wondering if you'll ever return? Just sit here, and wait? You expect me to do to that?"

"I want you to do that—I don't…expect you," I said, exasperated. Arguing with Celine was a difficult and endless matter; there was little that could persuade her. But this time, she relented.

"Okay…I understand."

"You…what?"

"Promise me you'll come back, alright? I'll be waiting…"

I didn't know if that was the last time I would be feeling her warm arms reaching around my back and her body pressed up against mine, but I enjoyed every second until we were forced to break apart and I had to leave.

There was no worse feeling on Earth than preparing for a descent into your enemy's stronghold. I had been in that building once, and had no desire to go back; but it was my duty to return once more.

I outfitted myself with the gear that seemed reasonable; a combat shotgun, medium-range silenced SMG, and a night-vision goggle set I found in the quartermaster's store. The weapons and equipment here were relatively high-grade, compared to the ones that I had been forced to use back in Langsford Peak. It was fitting for what might have been my last expedition, into the jaws of the enemy.

"Ready, Cap?" Darius asked when I stepped outside. We were all geared up for our infiltration; everyone wore the heaviest combat armor they could carry, along with weapons suitable for the close-quarters combat we would certainly experience.

"As ready as I'll ever be—"

"We're all good to go," Lance said. "We already have a way in, so just give us the signal."

I waited for one moment, savoring the warm air around me.

_Would I die down there? Would I come back?_

_Celine was right…maybe she should be at my side…_

"We going or what?

Lance drew me back to the real world, out of my thoughts. The time to ponder was over; we _had _to go.

"Yeah, we're off…"

xXXXXXXXXXXXx

Jeb was sweating profusely as he scrolled down the lines of code with Notch, who had invited him to do so.

_He knows something…he's getting suspicious_.

The true reason he had come to Mojang late on a snowy night was to finish his creation—the one that would finish it all, bring the sim to an end. It wouldn't be a very _glorious _end, but _MINECRAFT _didn't need a glorious end. It just needed to be stopped—before it was too late.

"Can you give me some help, Jens?" Notch asked, pointing at the computer screen that was analyzing and translating _MINECRAFT_'s code.

"Yeah…uh…sure…with what?"

"Just a bit of translation. Code can be kinda complex here—"

"But you designed it yourself, Marcus…you know all of this more than I do," Jeb argued, trying to withdraw himself from a _very _prickly situation. Marcus was too smart to be duped like this. If worst came to worst…

"Right here, I think it is…I don't recognize this code," Notch said, turning towards the screen and staring very closely at it.

"Can you help me—"

There had never been a gunshot heard before in the neighborhood where Mojang's offices were; crime was almost nonexistent. But there stood Jeb, the tiny Medusa revolver still smoking, staring at the wound that he had inflicted. Markus had been expecting something, but not a gunshot; he toppled out of the chair, falling to the carpeted floor of the office.

Jeb, torn between helping the man who he had worked with for ten years and saving his planet, sat down to the computer console and began to type furiously.

_I've got to finish this…the end is so close…so tangible…_

Somewhere inside _MINECRAFT_, the Wither King began to wake for the first time…

**xXXXXXXXXXXXXXx**

**Just a little random personal note here…**

**That will probably be one of the worst cliffhangers ever. Someone will flame me for this, probably.**

**We're nearing the end, everyone! Thank you for all your reviews and support for all of this time! I don't know what I'll do next, but…I'll think about it, I guess o_O**

**Regards,**

**Exb**


	46. One Nation, Indivisible

**So, to start, I must say that this is the most visceral, grueling and emotional chapter of Gone yet. It will leave some of you in tears, some of you angry, and some of you just…the same. But I feel like I put a lot of heart into this, and I hope you appreciate this penultimate chapter.**

**That's right. Penultimate. One more to go…**_**the epic conclusion**_**.**

**That would've been a lot better with an epic narration voice. Oh well…on to answers.**

**Also, to answer all of you: NOTCH IS NOT DEAD. He's just wounded…you'll see how he fares in this chapter ;)**

**PigeonFligher: Just keep it all inside…or better yet, scream at Crow. She deserves it -_-**

**Guest: Yeah, that's a pretty appropriate reaction there.**

**Woohooman14: Why? Because I like peoples' reactions to them :3**

**Jeb has his reasons. He's just a bit…over the edge. Just a little mental :D**

**Chaos Reincarnate: Towards the end. I didn't say it outright, but it's heavily implied in the last real paragraph.**

**HPE24: Yep, the Wither King. Seems like he's in a lot of fics these days…go figure :3**

**I didn't update quick, unfortunately. But I hope you enjoy this!**

**BlackPanter101: Thanks! I'll give a reason for the shooting, don't worry…**

**Eta7400: Nope. And yes, that is the Wither King in the cover. Your sister did a FANTASTIC job on it :D**

**BlakeyBoy: I'll check that map out. But making Gone into an adventure map…THAT would be impressive. I hope you realize how large of a scale it's on…unless you intend to focus on a specific part?**

**Mayosoul: Yeah, I liked Mouse too. She was the most detailed OC I had seen—but she had to die. And don't throw your phone out the window…you might need it O.o**

**GODZILLA: Sure. We can call him Ender, that's fine.**

**xXXXXXXXXXXXx**

Markus Persson struggled to stay alive and conscious; the wound burned, seared like a hot coal applied to his bare flesh.

_Jens…he shot…me...but why?_

He struggled to breathe as well, slowly becoming aware that the tiny lead projectile had punctured his right lung. He could feel oxygen-rich blood surging up through his throat and mouth—if the wound was not treated quickly, he would bleed out.

Jeb sat at the console that controlled the _MINECRAFT _simulation, working furiously to create something—what that something was, Notch had no idea. He knew that his closest friend and colleague had betrayed him and shot him—but still no idea why.

"There's not enough time left…damnit, I can't do it—"

Jeb was whispering furiously to himself, his eyes fixated blankly on the screen where he was busily creating something. Notch couldn't see the code—not from his position on the floor—but he could see Jeb perfectly, and it appeared as though his colleague had forgotten all about his employer, who was lying right beneath him on the cold floor of the office.

The gun that Jeb had used was nearby, close enough for Notch to reach it…

_No, I couldn't shoot him…I can't shoot him…_

He faced a life-or-death decision now—everything that he had ever created was in peril now, as was his own world. If Notch made one wrong decision, or did nothing at all, this could be the end…

_Act now! You NEED to do it!_

Some voice, inside of his head, was screaming at him to pick up the handgun and pull the trigger.

_Not Jens…we've worked together for so long, I can't do it…_

_Shoot him!_

He struggled to focus, his vision wavering and his eyes bleary. Blood ran down the plaid shirt he wore, staining the expensive fabric crimson.

_I don't want to—_

_KILL HIM!_

The voice could no longer be ignored, as much as he wanted to ignore it. As Jeb typed furiously, sweat dripping from his brow and bright red hair, Markus Persson reached for the 9mm Beretta handgun, putting all of his strength into bringing the weapon level towards his colleague's head.

_I will regret this forever…_

In his delirious state, Jeb knew that his work was finished—but he never saw the end coming so soon.

xXXXXXXx

Deep within the mountain, the Wither King stirred.

_Get to the portal. Consume it, and you will consume all. It is what you were made for._

The tiny voice was all that he heard. He ascended slowly out of the mountain, emerging into the cool alpine air. The village, a meager collection of huts and hovels, was empty, deserted. Not a soul in sight.

The Wither King was three of one—three memories, three existences, three personalities. One consciousness. It was designed to bring the scattered forces of its kin together, to consume this world.

_End it all. Only with the end is peace a possibility._

The Wither King, out of sheer whimsy, fired a black bolt from one of its heads at a nearby hut. The wood-and-grass shack caught ablaze instantly, eaten and destroyed by black fire that left nothing. Not even ashes.

_Unite them. Consume the world. Bring the end about, and then you shall be at rest. _

_You are the Wither King. This is what you were made for._

xXXXXXXx

Gunfire, an all-too familiar sound to me, rang out inside the depths of the headquarters of the Loyalist government, which was now in a full state of panic.

Darius, Lance, Shadow, Tala and I had volunteered to descend into the pit that held the government's greatest creations, a labyrinth of storage units, laboratories and secret projects built away from the curious eyes of taxpayers and lobbyists back home. This was all before the Great Chaos erupted; when the evacuations began, and the cities descended into complete anarchy, it was here that science and knowledge were revived, only to be brutally cut short by the civil war.

I held my cover behind a cargo crate, watching with a sickening twist in my stomach as green militiamen, assigned as security guards, desperately attempted to hold the cargo elevator that led to the deeper areas of the complex, where we needed to go. Shadow and I, closest to the group of sentries, picked them off one by one. The new recruits, probably fresh out of boot camp, had received little to no training, and were sickeningly easy to bring down. In just a few minutes, the room was devoid of any hostiles—only their bodies remained, cut down where they stood and tried to fight.

"Whatever happened to stealth?" Lance asked as he withdrew from his sniping position, which had held a clear view over the cargo elevator and adjacent areas.

"It wasn't an option from the start," I said as everyone came out of cover. The militiamen had had no idea of what kind of cover to take; thus, they had fallen behind whatever seemed suitable to them, which had often been a deathtrap. So many of them were slain while hunkering down somewhere they perceived to be safe; it was stomach-churning to walk past so many young men, dead on the floor, their blood pooling together.

"Are we really going to fight our way all the way through this complex?"

"Not if we can avoid it," I answered, entering the cargo elevator. The massive space could hold at least thirty people—the five of us would easily fit inside.

"Well, this _will _take us all the way to the lower floor. We can avoid quite a few people—"

"I don't think we'll find many people down here," Tala said, cutting Darius off. "I've got a feeling that only the diehards are left—especially after today's events."

"What with the siege and all, I wouldn't be surprised," Shadow muttered as he stepped into the cargo space, the last one to do so. "The entire war turned against them in the blink of an eye."

The elevator began its slow descent, a tiny capsule slowly falling into the depths of the earth. The only indication of where we were was a tiny light on the dashboard where the elevator controls were located.

_The bottom floor. That's where we need to be_.

We descended ever so slowly, apprehensive about the end that was to come soon.

It seemed like forever, an endless ride through empty space. But the ring of a bell brought me out of the trance I had fallen into and back to the real world, as the elevator's heavy metal doors slid open and admitted us into a room that was at least two-hundred feet high, and even larger in terms of width and length.

Catwalks and scaffolding were the most prominent sights in the massively cavernous research lab. Crisscrossing each other, scaling up the walls like a proliferative moss, scaffolds were everywhere, along with ladders and temporary catwalks suspended perilously above the large drop. In the center of the room was a large oculus, which I assume gave someone a view down into something below this.

_Isn't this the last level? Is there something underneath this floor?_

"It's completely empty," Lance remarked as we stepped out into the room.

"Not a soul in sight," Shadow whispered, standing with his back against the concrete wall. "Doesn't it all seem a little…suspicious?"

"Yeah, you could say that," I responded, stepping out into the cold room. There was no air conditioning down here; thus, it felt like a true cave without the damp atmosphere. It was chilly and dry, and the stark concrete walls did little to give the room any sort of warm atmosphere or feeling to it. It felt like standing inside a massive concrete tomb.

"How much do you think all of this cost?" Darius asked, taking in the entire visual.

"I have no idea—"

I stopped in midsentence as I approached the oculus, the giant glass-covered hole in the floor that gave me a peek at what lay below this massive room. There, within a square frame of some sort of metallic element, was suspended in midair a swirling mass of purplish energy, convulsing and pulsing like a beating heart—but it looked "furious" almost. It felt angry; the convulsions were rapid and uneven, the pulsing was angry and hateful, as if this energy was trying to lash out at something, or someone.

_So this is it. This…is the portal. A portal to a world that I can't begin to imagine._

I knew that beyond that portal lay a world called Earth, a "paradise" that held such promise for our people. Here, sequestered beneath hundreds of tons of concrete and steel, lay the brainchild of billions of dollars and thousands of man-hours. So much gone to waste…either the portal would be deactivated completely, or it would "rupture", resulting in the destruction of both worlds. I would have preferred the first option…

"LEON, CONTACT!"

The bullets bounced off of the concrete around me, shattered the glass and one struck me in the side of my foot, shearing most of the boot and some flesh off.

I fell to the hard ground as more bullets bounced off of the concrete, gripping my foot and biting my lower lip as hot pain, warm and fiery, shot up through my foot and leg. There were black shapes moving around on the catwalks up above, staying out of our lines of fire and shooting down at the lower floor without prejudice—they were firing everywhere, missing almost every single shot. A few bullets hit close to me, but many of them were way off of their mark.

_Suppressing fire—they're not trying to hit me. Just trying to keep me down…_

I could hear someone calling my name, a familiar voice, but the cries were soon drowned out by the roar of a heavy machine gun from up above, a shattering din that spewed heavy caliber bullets all around me. I was curled up behind several storage crates, my hands shaking as I reached for my silenced weapon and tried to draw it out. I was honestly terrified; never before had I been so scared in my life, even at Riverside.

I was the target for two dozen heavily-armed enemy soldiers, and sooner or later one of their shots would hit something vital. It was only a matter of time.

My hands were shaking like leaves in a brisk breeze; I aimed the rifle upwards and popped off several shots, forcing two of the armor-clad Loyalist soldiers to draw back from their firing positions on a construction platform and take cover. The most I could do was suppress them before they could suppress me; the chance of any of my shots hitting their targets was almost negligible.

And yet one of those tiny lead projectiles was lucky; I saw a black-clad body stumble and fall off of the wooden works, hitting the solid cement hard as it fell. The man was dead before he even fell off into the air, and yet I pitied his broken body as it fell and when it slammed into the floor, cracking most of the bones and sending his weapon flying off into the air.

The fire was still heavy, but my own fire had sent several of my opponents scattering for cover, allowing me to seek better shelter _inside _one of the cargo crates nearby. The entire interior was empty, devoid of anything but a few cardboard packing boxes, and provided the perfect amount of cover for me to recuperate and get my bearings.

From where I sat, I could see Shadow, crouched behind a large slab of cement, reloading his rifle or attempting to remove a jam. The only other person I could see was Lance, who was pinned down by heavy fire from both the .50 caliber machine gun up above and several of the black-clad elite soldiers.

From my covered position, I aimed the silenced rifle at two of the visible elites and opened fire. One of them was hit twice in the gut, and fell a good forty feet from the catwalk, hitting a cargo crate hard and bouncing off of it, falling out of sight. The other was clipped, but his armor took the blow, and he withdrew from view, stealing through a doorway nearby.

_That machine gunner is still putting down too much fire…I need to get him taken out…_

My foot was bleeding rather profusely, blood staining the boot and leaving a small crimson puddle in the cargo crate. I had to move before someone got a bead on me and fired; I was not exposed, really, but fire was coming from everywhere, and I had no idea where it would come from next. The best way to escape this sudden ambush was to keep moving, and hope to find some sort of access elevator or staircase down to the portal room below us.

And so I ran, dashing out of the safety of the cargo crate. The machine gunner, who had just reloaded apparently, spotted me instantly and began pouring fire down. But I was too fast, and his fire was too inaccurate; as bullets slammed into the concrete around me, I dashed across open floor and slid into the safety of Lance's position.

"Gods, Leon—you scared the shit out of me!" Lance exclaimed as I slid to safety. He had his rifle aimed at me, but lowered it as soon as he recognized a friendly face.

"Sorry about that. Had a bit of a problem over there—"

"Yeah, they came out of nowhere. I was afraid you were dead over in that labyrinth of crates," Lance said, popping a magazine out of his rifle and fumbling to replace it. Fire was profuse in the room, coming from both above and below, but none of it really near us. The rounds were all missing—we were being suppressed, but there was nobody coming down to flush us out.

"Well, not quite dead yet…"

I showed him my foot—the bleeding had stopped, but there was still a sizeable wound there. If left alone, it would eventually start to bleed out again.

"It doesn't look too bad," Lance shrugged.

"It's not. But we should take care of it sooner rather than later."

"Well, we've got bigger problems—"

A massive bullet pinged off of the nearest cargo crate, sending a ringing reverberating through my ears.

"—like that," Lance finished, shaking his head and pointing the rifle up. He fired blindly, just like I had been doing; I could see a figure way up in the catwalks, very distant, holding what looked like a sniper rifle and leaning over a crate. He was aiming directly at our position.

"I've got a sniper up in one of the construction towers, one o'clock—"

"I can get him," Lance answered, shouldering his rifle and aiming up.

"Are you sure?" I asked as another heavy round smashed into the steel frame of the crate, denting it slightly and temporarily deafening me once again.

"I've got a good aim, Leon," Lance smirked. "You underestimate me—"

What I thought was a solid wall behind us turned out to be a door—an elevator door, to be exact. Two armored men stepped out of it just as Lance prepared to take the shot. I had a good reaction time—I cut them both down before they shot me—but Lance had taken a bullet before I could kill both of the soldiers. As the bodies fell, slamming into the back wall of the elevator, Lance's body went rigid and he fell forwards against the crate, jerking uncontrollably.

The bullet had penetrated the back of his neck, and had severed the delicate connections between his brain stem and his spine. Lance was _definitely _dead, even though he was still convulsing and shaking; I watched the life leave his eyes as I turned his body over, seeing the blood drain from his face and his features finally fall still and silent.

The world had stopped, if only momentarily. I pondered what to do next; Lance was dead, his body still warm, the bullet lodged in the back of his head. The sniper had not stopped firing on me; as I sat there, gazing bleary-eyed at an insignia on the cargo crate, Shadow left his place of cover and joined me in my hiding spot, reviving me with a hard tap on the back.

"Leon, he's dead, leave him—"

I realized that I was still holding Lance's body, even though it had stopped moving. I set him gently down on the floor, and turned back around to Shadow.

"We need to go down—"

"I know," the ranger responded, calmly. "But the elevator is on the other side of the room, and we won't make it under this wide range of fire."

Shadow pointed to the open space in front of us; both the sniper and the machine gunner had a clear sweep of the room, and if we tried to make a break for it odds were one of those two would bring us down. The only logical direction to go would be—

"Up," I said.

"What?"

"We need to go up—if we can't go down, the only way we can go is up. We can't stay _here_," I argued, placing the emphasis on the last word as a fresh burst of heavy machine gun fire rattled the bullet-pocked metal crate.

"We won't be much better off up there, Leon," Shadow seethed, emptying the rest of his clip towards a pack of special ops soldiers who were racing for another firing position. By sheer luck, he hit one of them, sending him off the platform.

"We stand a fighting chance—are you with me, or not?"

Shadow seemed torn between going up to face our enemy and staying down here, under a brutally hot field of gunfire. Finally, he swore quietly and slung his rifle over his shoulder.

"Yeah, I'm with you. Let's get this done."

xXXXXXXXXXXXXXx

Jeb lay bleeding on the floor, having tumbled out of his seat and fallen onto the tile below him.

_I need…to get back up…_

He struggled to get back up, but failed. The figure of his employer stood above him, shaking and breathing heavily but still up on his feet.

"Jens…can you hear me?"

There was no answer but a suppressed groan of pain.

"I'm going to stop this, Jens. I'll figure it out, one way or another—"

"It's too late," Jeb managed weakly, as his employer sat down at the _MINECRAFT _console. "I've already…unleashed him—"

"Why, Jens…why did you do it?" Notch asked, gasping for breath as he sat down and tried to scroll through the coding, seeking what he needed to delete.

"You went too far…I saw it, months ago—"

"Saw what?"

"The future of _MINECRAFT_…what happened to it, Markus? What happened to the sandbox we used to love? You turned it…into a nightmare, a disaster waiting to happen…"

Jeb knew full well why he had tried to destroy the simulation. It was a threat to the world—the parameters of the simulation had extended beyond that of a computer simulation. It was its own dimension, contained inside a cube—a dimension that threatened the safety and security of the world he called home. And so he secretly created the "Withers", computer viruses bred to destroy the simulation from the inside.

"I tried…to bring it to an end, before it was too late—"

"You tried to destroy ten years' worth of hard work, that's what you did," Notch seethed, typing furiously at the computer. He had to delete everything Jeb had done…before it did any more damage…

"I'm saving our planet right now…don't you realize what you've created?"

"I know full well what I've created, but I can stop it better than you can—I've got an insider as well—"

"How do you know that he's still alive? How do you know that he hasn't failed?" Jeb questioned, his vision beginning to fade away as his blood poured out of the gaping bullet wound.

"Because he's a determined fighter, flesh and blood," Notch fired back angrily. "You put your faith in a cold-blooded killing machine. How effective could that be?"

xXXXXXXXXXXXx

The Wither King advanced slowly down the mountain, feeling the strength of a dozen others of its kind answering its calls.

_Rally together, destroy this world. And then we can have our peace._

As the Wither King floated up in the air, traveling faster than any vehicle known to man, he felt something distant—something tugging at him, some gravitational force pulling him away.

_It's nothing. You can't feel it—you don't feel anything. You're just a machine._

The Wither King marched on, trying to fulfill its goal.

_End this world. Delete…delete._

And yet the pull was becoming irresistible. Now, instead of pulling him away, it felt like it was pulling him apart, bit by bit. He could no longer resist it; he kept moving, and yet he could feel himself dissipating.

_No…no…must push onward, must do…what I was ordered…_

The Wither King would NOT accept failure. Not now…not when he was so close to his goal…

And suddenly, the pull disappeared. Just as soon as it had come, the feeling of being torn apart, shredded, and had vanished.

He was not whole—his powers had been disrupted by the sudden force—but the Wither King knew that if he finished his job, he would be at full strength again.

And he knew exactly where to go to gain the energy to finish his job. At that very moment, at one single point in the world, he could find more energy than he possibly needed.

The portal beckoned to the Wither King, and he had to answer the call.

xXXXXXXXXXXXx

Notch had been in the process of deleting Jeb's penultimate virus when the latter had suddenly found his strength and assaulted him. Jeb was delirious now; having lost much of his blood, he had gone into a wild frenzy and hauled Notch out of the chair, and was now furiously attempting to grapple with his former employer for the handgun, the weapon that had injured both of them.

One of them would die tonight in this office, where ten years ago the first version of Minecraft had been developed.

Ten years of friendship…all boiled down to a blood-soaked brawl between best friends.

One of the two would die tonight—but the fate of both men was still hanging in the balance.

xXXXXXXXXXXXx

The elevator doors opened right in front of two shotgun-armed Loyalist soldiers, who were prepared to ride the lift down. Instead of being greeted by an empty room, they were greeted by two shotgun-toting Secessionist diehards, who blasted their opponents off of the catwalk with the force of the shotguns.

I was one of those two diehards—Shadow, the masked ranger, was the other. As soon as we exited the lift, we drew attention to ourselves. About half of the original number of black ops troopers were left, and they immediately noticed the presence of hostiles on their level.

"Get down, and stay down," Shadow hissed as the heavy machine gun opened fire on our position. We were now locked down behind a construction crate; Shadow and I cut down two Loyalist soldiers trying to seek cover, but there were at least six more on this level—six more elite fighters we had to deal with.

"What a wonderful fucking idea, coming up here," Shadow cursed, as the machine gun _and _sniper began opening fire.

"It was better than staying down there—"

"Really? Are you really that naïve?"

At that moment, the Enderman who had not been with me ever since Adelina teleported to me, having found his way through the facility to us.

"Where the hell—"

"It's easy to find you. I follow the sounds of gunfire," the Enderman said monotonically, his voice raspy and hollow but soothingly familiar at the same time.

"Why, then? Why come down here?" I asked as the fire leveled off for a bit. Our opponents were reloading; Shadow took this opportunity to empty his mag over the crate, spewing bullets all across the far side of the room.

"You looked like you could use some assistance—"

"Now more than ever…where's Herobrine?"

"He's trying to contact his brother—so he sent me down here," the Enderman said.

"He _sent _you?"

"There was no way I could decline. Like it or not, I'm here to give you a helping hand—"

"It's more than welcome," I replied as the fire became hot again. "Could you…try to distract them, maybe?"

"I'll do as much as I can, Leon," he replied, and in an instant he disappeared. I saw a flickering black shape moving swiftly from one spot to another, drawing rapid fire from the machine gunner, who missed every single shot.

"Alright, Shadow—you know what you need to do?"

"It's insane, Leon…you expect me to run for it?" Shadow asked, as the Ender father continued to teleport.

"There's plenty of cover between here and the machine gun—"

"You're insane, I swear…but I'll do it," he finally agreed, wincing as a sniper bullet landed less than an inch from his exposed heel.

"Great…as soon as you hear him stop firing, run for it—"

We waited, the seconds agonizingly long as the machine gunner wore down his ammunition belt. When the loud, roaring blasts finally stopped, both of us made a dash for the nearest bit of cover.

We had perfect timing; the sniper had trained himself on the Enderman, who was gracefully teleporting around the room, staying on the catwalks. We didn't even need to take cover or lob a grenade against the machine gun; Shadow and I ran up to the gun platform and killed both the gunner and a point man covering him.

It was then that the plan began to fail. We received fire from a stack of cement bags at the far wall of the room, and at least one of the rounds hit Shadow in the leg, crippling him and knocking him down.

I took cover behind the machine gun's front shield, trying to haul Shadow's armored body behind cover. But three more bullets pierced him, and his agonized screams were almost unbearable; he was not wailing, but every bullet drew pain from him, and I could see blood frothing out of his mouth.

Before I could get him behind cover, Shadow, the stoic and reliable ranger, was dead. A bullet from the entrenched shooter had hit him in the head, and he died with four bullet wounds in his body. There was no use in bringing his body behind cover; instead, I charged forward, catching my shooter by surprise. Instead of shooting back at him, I crashed into him, sending the butt of my shotgun into his face and smashing his visor in. The shards of plastic punctured his eyes and forehead, and he cried out in pain as the plastic dug into his flesh and he was slammed into the wall.

The sniper, who had been preoccupied with the Enderman, now fired at me, but missed and hit his companion. At least the Loyalist had a quick death; instead of suffering from the agonizing wounds I had given him, sharp and jagged plastic shards in his eyes, the sniper's bullet struck him in the head, putting him out of his misery. Another bullet would have been meant for me, but fate was both merciful and cruel at the same time.

The Ender father teleported in front of the shot; I knew he had been hit when his fluid body suddenly went stiff and motionless, his purple eyes staring right into mine.

Those eyes held more emotion than that of any human being. I could see his entire life in there—his grief at bringing ruin to his family, his sorrow at his exile, the death of his children before his very eyes, and finally his own death. One single life, full of so much misery and suffering, brought to an end by a single lead shell encased in brass and manufactured in some now abandoned factory…

He did not suffer—he died instantly, a death suitable for a heroic, noble creature like himself. He was better than almost any human I had ever known—he sacrificed so much to bring his family happiness, but in the end only suffered through a bitter exile that forced him to steal a child and take it away from its true parents. And that child was now dead, its body once riddled with bullets and now swept away by the wind and ash.

For the first time, I felt true rage surge through me. The Enderman had sacrificed so much for my cause—leaving the one home he had left, fighting endlessly for a freedom that would never be his, sacrificing his energy and time for something he could never partake of. The sniper's rifle was jammed now; I could hear him cursing under his breath, the last Loyalist alive in the room, trying to clear the jam from the bolt.

I marched furiously over, throwing my shotgun aside, wanting this to be personal.

The jam wasn't cleared; the sniper was thrown off balance as I rammed into him, knocking him into the wall. He slumped to the ground, dazed by the sudden impact; I threw open his visor, removed his helmet, and satisfactorily dug my thumbs into his eyes.

He bled, and screamed, and cried out like a child—I dug deep, feeling the deaths of Ari, Derek, Paul, Marcus, Joseph, Mouse, Lance and Shadow avenged by the suffering I inflicted on this heartless warmonger. I left him there to die in agony, thrashing and screaming on the metal catwalk, his hands reaching in vain for his face. Blind and tormented by the pain, he would die a slow death as he bled out.

xXXXXXXXXXXXx

Jeb had stopped struggling—his body slowly became limp, the life left those wild and creative eyes as Notch tried to fight over the handgun.

His grip became limp and loose, and his skin became paler than ever before.

Jeb was dying, and there was nothing Notch could have done to stop it. As his closest friend stopped breathing, Markus Persson realized that it was _he _who had killed his best friend. _He _had caused all of this—_MINECRAFT_, Leon Walker's suffering, the threat to his world. If he had started it, _he _would have to end it.

Jeb was dead now; Markus, shaking unstoppably, stood up, his knees nearly buckling. He had lost a lot of blood as well; soon he would go the same way as his friend, bleeding to death in the perceived sanctuary of Mojang AB.

He stooped into the console, nearly falling into the chair, typing desperately.

He had to undo Jeb's last act—as much as it pained him, he had to stop the virus. Before it consumed all of their work…

xXXXXXXXXXXXx

The Wither King watched almost gleefully as the humans ran, their vehicles burning and their comrades slaughtered by his minions.

_They do not realize that what I am doing is good. I was told that this was good…isn't this better than what they fight over? It will be over so soon…_

Raspers, the infected humans, rushed over the barricades and sandbags, clawing and slashing at the fleeing militiamen. The regular and veteran soldiers were holding better, but soon they would collapse under the unified Wither onslaught.

_There is no hope for them…they must succumb to fate eventually. Everyone does._

_Am I doing my job right this time? I wonder if he'll finally love me for what I've done…_

_I've done everything that he has willed me to do. Soon, this world will be nothing, and I will have completed my task…_

_Will he love me then?_

_Will he love his own creation?_

As he watched from above, watched his Withers and rasper minions swarm against the humans, he felt the pulling feeling again.

_It's nothing…it's just like before…_

But it was growing stronger; the Wither King could feel its pull against him, some invisible force tearing him to shreds, destroying his being.

He struggled, but there was no use. He could feel himself being deleted, being pulled out of this world. Even as his armies overran the desert, even as victory was in his grasp, he could feel his end coming.

The Wither King could do nothing but wait for the deletion to be over.

_I have failed…I cannot resist it…there is nothing to do._

_He will never love me. My master…I have failed him._

_He can never love his creation now._

xXXXXXXx

Just as soon as the Wither King had been created, he had been destroyed. His armies, without his guidance, would fall apart. The Withers would be stopped by the beacons—there was no way they could finish their deletion of the world.

Notch had done what needed to be done—the task was finished, the threat was almost controlled. He hoped that Leon Walker could do it—it was such a heavy burden to place on someone, but Markus Persson needed it to be done.

His time in the world was almost finished; he could feel his blood draining out, his life flowing out of the wound.

There was no time for a hospital; nor was there time for regrets. Notch knew what had to be done—his world was in the hands of Leon Walker now, the one man who could bring the portal to a close.

_You are the last man who can save your world, Leon Walker…I put all my faith into you._

Notch smiled as he placed the barrel to his head and squeezed the trigger slowly.

_Godspeed, Leon Walker. Godspeed._

xXXXXXXx

I stumbled towards the elevator as the doors opened, admitting a bloody and exhausted Darius onto the upper floors.

"Leon…you're a mess, goddamnit…"

"You're wounded, Darius—you need med—"

"It's not my blood. Some other poor bastard," Darius smirked. He held his trusty revolver in hand, loaded and ready for combat. But all the Loyalists were dead in the room; there was nothing left to stop me from bringing this entire episode to a close.

"I need to get down there, Darius. I need you to do something."

"Anything—"

"Get back topside. Let everyone know what happened down here."

"And you? You're going—"

"Further down, yes. I have nowhere else to go but down."

Darius was puzzled, but he accepted. Seeing as I had no weapon, he handed his Anaconda to me.

"I can't take it—"

"No—you'll need it more than me. Take it," Darius interrupted, forcing the weapon into my hands. It was heavy, but almost felt…_familiar_. Eerily familiar.

"Thank you…please, get topside. Try to find Tala…do you know where she is?"

"I haven't seen her—I'll try to look for her on my way back up," Darius promised. We both stepped into the elevator and descended back to the bottom floor. The elevator down to the portal room beckoned to me; whether it would be my death, or my final salvation, I did not know.

"When you get back…tell…tell Celine that I…tell her—"

I couldn't finish my sentence. I was choking on the words that tried to flow forth, choking on what I couldn't say. Darius said nothing; I stalked away, exiting the elevator without finishing.

"Tell her…never mind. I can't—"

There was no more that I could say; Darius knew what I wanted to say, but only nodded silently.

"Good luck, Leon. I'll see you on the other side."

The doors of the cargo elevator that I would be taking opened as I pressed the button. I looked back to see Darius' face one last time as he entered the cargo elevator up, and left me.

xXXXXXXx

The ride down was the longest I had ever taken. Caked with blood and sweat, I was exhausted, a mess that stepped out of the elevator into the most impressive sight I had ever seen.

The portal stood right in front of me, not five feet below my own feet. The massive sphere of energy twisted and twirled within those square confines, like a mad creature trying to escape its cage. It was awe-inspiring, and at the same time terrifying.

The only problem was shutting it down.

It would be like trying to contain said beast with nothing but your bare hands—nearly impossible, and fatal if one misstep was made.

As I searched around the room, looking for a switch or console of any sort, a familiar, high-pitched and cold laugh sounded from behind me. Simultaneous with the click of a gun.

"Did you miss me, Leon?"

As I turned around for the source, I stared straight into the face of Mina Wycokrwyz. We had finally come to a standoff, and one of us would not leave that room.


	47. With Liberty and Justice for All

**Hello, internet! Yes, I just had to say that. Copying the wonderful Mellifluousness, am I? Well, yes indeed.**

**This is the final chapter of **_**Gone**_**, and it took so damn long to come out because I wanted to tie up every loose end imaginable. Thus, I had to devote a lot of time to it—and I certainly hope the results are everything you ever wished for.**

**Love it? Hate it? Not sure? Just want to give me caramel (I'm looking at you, PigeonFligher…)? Put in a review. This will be the end.**

**And thus, it's been a great journey for me. I'm sure that some others also feel the same, and I would like to thank EVERYONE who reviewed. Even the occasional troll…whoever you are. Your comments, criticisms, witticisms and random thoughts were much appreciated :)**

**I will not be responding to reviews this time, as much as it pains me to not do so. I just don't have the time to add this in, as I'm rushed for time to publish here…so if you have a **_**burning **_**question, just PM it to me. And enjoy the finale…**

**xXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXx**

"So this is where it all ends?" I asked quietly.

Mina smiled gloatingly, holding a heavy handgun in one hand and the nape of someone's neck in the other. She dragged the captive along the floor, thrusting the woman before me so that I could recognize her.

It was Tala, bruised and bloodied, kneeling at the foot of a set of stairs that led up to a control booth. She was at the mercy of the armed and dangerous Mina, who aimed the gun at the back of the ranger's head.

"Let me open our conversation with a little gift."

Mina pulled the trigger, and Tala's body flew forward, landing on the ground without a sound. The gun's barrel smoking in her hand, Mina flicked the safety back on and pushed Tala's lifeless body aside with her foot, approaching me.

"That's much better—"

"That wasn't necessary," I growled, the first words I had exchanged with her since fleeing from the interrogation chamber.

"It was a little…opener…to our negotiation. If I wanted you dead, I would have shot you already. Or had my men take care of you—"

"They tried to 'take care' of me. They failed," I smirked.

"Yes, I am aware," Mina replied. "It's quite obvious—but it's all for the better."

"Your elite soldiers being slain by my hand is _better_?"

"Of course. It gives me an opportunity to speak to you before your death. At _my _hand, incidentally." She turned the safety off again, and pointed the gun directly at me. I had Darius' revolver when I entered the room, but had been forced to set it aside earlier.

"What do you want, then?"

"A little chat. Something personal…I don't want you to feel cornered or anything—"

"Well, that's kinda the vibe I'm getting now…"

I was backed up about five feet from a wall. The portal pulsed and roared not twenty feet from me, the shuddering energy growing in intensity and power.

"I didn't really want it to happen like that. This could be quite casual, you know," she argued.

"Well, I'm not really seeing anything casual going on here…"

"Hmm. Funny how that happens," Mina giggled, standing not ten feet from me and holding the gun at head level. "You break through my defenses, kill my elite personal bodyguard, and make your way down here, only to be held hostage by a thirty-year old woman with a gun. How does all of that work?" Mina asked quizzically, toying with me.

I shrugged.

"Good luck, bad luck…I can say your bodyguard put up a strong fight, as much as it begrudges me to say so…"

"They weren't necessarily the cream of the crop. Most of those died at Adelina."

"But they fought hard—"

"Not hard enough, though. I'm still impressed that you made your way down here—even if you lost a few…"

I felt my fists form into knuckles, digging into my flesh. She was needling me, tormenting me about the death of almost all of my companions…

"Dear, dear…so much blood shed unnecessarily…not just today, but the days before this…weeks, even…"

I said nothing, watching her as she strolled idly around the area, ignoring the pulsing portal that should, under normal circumstances, merit some kind of attention.

"Those young men…that poor young woman, she did not need to die…"

"You killed her," I growled, reminding her.

"Yes, I killed her. But only to make a point to you—if you had given yourself up before coming down here, she might still be alive."

I looked over at the executed Tala, the bullet hole barely visible in the back of her head. She lay in a pool of crimson blood, splayed out on the floor like a murdered eagle.

"Didn't think about it like that, did you?" she asked. "Poor girl…she was a brave soldier, and quite a fine one, too."

She looked over from Tala's body to my own, and then down at my feet.

"You're bleeding," she mentioned, pointing her gun at my foot. I looked down to see the blood oozing slowly from the wound that had previously been closed; something must've reopened the injury.

"Yes—"

"Eventually you'll bleed out. So your time _is _limited, then…shall we play the waiting game?" Mina smiled, pushing back a lock of her shimmering hair and pointing the gun at me again.

"No more games," I ordered.

"Well, look who thinks he's in charge," Mina laughed. "What if I want to play a game with you? Do you like to play games?"

"Enough of this—"

"Why? What's the hurry? Whether you bleed out, or whether I put a bullet through your brain…you're still going to die," she said, a nasty, evil smile crossing her face. It was like a chisel tearing through the façade of a beautiful statue; unnatural, off-putting, and disgusting. That smile held more hatred and vitriol than any other person could hope to contain.

"Is there another way you want to die, then?"

"Stop this—"

"How shall I dispose of you?" Mina asked, striding towards the portal now. "Throw you off the highest tower? Drown you in a tub of water? Hang you by your neck? Is there a way that you prefer to die?"

"I'm not going to die—"

"Are you so determined not to? I think quite the contrary—one way or another, like I said before," Mina said. "It's my choice, after all."

She smiled wearily, looking quite tired. I could understand that she was worn out; the last few days must have been rough, having gone to the Nether, come back and faced the grand climax of the civil war that she had been fighting for weeks.

"Well, how long you live is based on how much you talk. So, go ahead—start talking. The more you speak, the longer you get to breathe and live on this Earth."

I shuffled nervously, trying to think of a solution to this situation I was now bogged down in. There was no way to run; Mina had the gun trained directly on my forehead, and to flee would invite an instant death at the behest of a cold, hard fragment of lead and brass. So, instead, I turned to what I hoped would be a semi-casual conversation, and tried to piece a solution together.

"The portal—"

"Is growing unstable? Yes, I am keenly aware of that," Mina said idly, flicking her brunette hair over her left shoulder. "But I will be departing before it _implodes_—something you don't want to experience. Something your comrades on the surface will suffer through—quite _traumatic_ it will be, I must say," Mina said devilishly.

"I don't want to know more about it—"

"There's not much more _to _know about it. Nobody really knows what will happen, only that the effects are positively _devastating_. It's like a nuclear detonation—smaller, but just as powerful, and the radiation it would release…"

Mina smiled again, seeming delighted to bring such suffering to others.

"Well, the effects of the radiation on people would be ghastly. The legacy of our old government, so to speak."

"That's a horrible legacy," I shuddered, leaning up against metal ductwork, trying to look casual as I puzzled out a possible escape.

"What is left of the old republic, but blood and needless sacrifice? Our legacy will _always _be horrible, Leon."

"And so what? You're just leaving—to your supposed 'paradise'? Isn't the portal—"

"Not working? I can read your mind like an open book, Leon," Mina laughed. "Well, it's not technically working—not by any physical standards. But I have a plan of action," she said confidently.

"Dare I ask what this plan is?"

"When the portal implodes—causing the aforementioned explosion—I _will _be able to travel through it, and anyone else if they wish. There was supposed to be a party coming down—some of my advisors and officials…I suppose they were accosted…'intercepted'…" Mina drawled, sounding irritated now.

As if to punctuate the moment, distant gunshots rang out from above us, from some skirmish higher up in the facility.

"Well, well…reinforcements," Mina smirked.

"Mine or yours?" I asked curiously.

"I couldn't say. Who knows what is happening up there? The war is at an end, either way…best to go out with a bang…"

There was more gunfire, as the portal began to churn more violently, the noise of its crashing echoes growing louder with each passing minute that it was not powered.

"So…it's just you going through the portal, then?" I asked, trying to humor her. After all this time, I still had difficulty deciding whether she was insane, or incredibly intelligent; both seemed logical.

"I'm afraid so," she sighed strenuously, still holding the gun level. "Just a party of one—the last survivor of the old regime…"

"What if they catch you before you enter? If those _are_ my allies," I asked, as the gunfire above became fiercer and fiercer.

"Unlikely. It will be about ten minutes now, before the rip reaches critical stage—the point in time in which I may enter it. Ten minutes isn't much time," she said. "And if you want to keep living, keep talking—"

"Will you kill me when ten minutes is up?" I asked.

"Yes. I think that it will be a fine climax to this whole catastrophe of a civil war. I know that you don't agree, but you don't have to."

We sat there for another few moments—in silence. I knew that she wouldn't pull the trigger, at least until ten minutes had passed. She might not even shoot then…

"How do you know that this…Earth…is a paradise?" I asked suddenly. The question just popped into my head, like a lightbulb flickering on—it was less out of desperation to save my life, and more out of simple curiosity.

"How do I know?"

"What evidence do you have?" I asked again, querying her as the gunfire grew closer, lower into the complex. "I mean…how do you know it's not some wasted land that's only a myth? Is it everything you had ever hoped for?"

Mina smiled again—in the face of a possible death, and the destruction of the government she had come to serve, she seemed rather happy.

"Wait right here, please…I can trust you, can't I?" It seemed like an asinine question—could she trust the prisoner who secretly despised her?

"I'm not leaving," I shrugged. There was no real way to leave—if I couldn't shut down this portal, then the deaths of the others would be in vain. I had to finish this.

"I'll be right back. And I'll be watching you the entire time," she warned, striding up towards the tiny office cubicle home to a computer monitor, several CCTV monitors and some complex switchboard.

As I stood against the exhaust vent, trying to block out the loud roar of the pulsating portal, she rummaged in a desk for some unseen object. After several seconds, she returned with what looked like a beaten-up, ragged old book.

"What the hell is that?"

"Your evidence—what you asked for," she answered, and opened up the book. She scanned through the pages, looking for something.

"Is it from Earth?" I questioned tentatively.

"Yes…it's in our language, but it came through the portal somehow. Something wonderful…it's a story of their life, their people, and their culture. All so…enchanting, you could say,"

"Read, then."

"I'm sorry?"

"Go ahead…read it," I commanded. She didn't hesitated, but stopped flipping through the pages and chose one towards the end. She cleared her voice, above the roar of the portal and the rattling gunfire above:

"_Harry had been to several Hogwarts feasts, but never one quite like this. Everybody was in their pajamas, and the celebration lasted all night. Harry didn't know whether the best bit was—"_

There was a scream from right above us, followed by the roar of a grenade blast and a hail of bullets. They were close, whoever they were…interrupted previously, Mina began to read a few sentences ahead.

"_The rest of the final term passed in a haze of blazing sunshine. Hogwarts was back to normal, with only a few small differences; exams had been cancelled, the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher had been sacked, and everyone was free to enjoy the last few weeks of late spring—"_

As gunfire chattered again, Mina stopped.

"It's perfect…doesn't it sound perfect?" she asked me.

"You're putting far too much faith in this," I warned her. "It's just a book—"

"It's not fiction, though! It feels so realistic—the magic, the enchantments, the glory and the heroism…it's what our world lacks!" Mina cried out ecstatically.

"I don't think—"

"_Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets_—written by someone named J.K. Rowling, a master class of literature…it's a chronicle of Earth's history, their failures and triumphs, their good and evil! Our world is _done, _Leon," Mina growled. "We've ruined it—but in this magical paradise, we can find a new start—a place to right our wrongs, to end our suffering—"

I could see that gleaming in her eye, the sign of dementia—she was too far gone, lost in her own spiraling, decaying descent centered around her perceived paradise. Another victim of the mental strain of war—she was hallucinating, deceived by ink on paper.

"You're insane," I stated simply.

Tears were streaming out of Mina's bashful eyes now, rolling down her smooth cheeks. She held the revolver out straight, aiming it directly at my forehead. I had no way to reach for the weapon I possessed, Darius' revolver—still holstered in my back pocket.

"I'm sorry that you can't see the truth. Please…forgive me—"

As she began to pull the trigger, the door to the room burst open, and several black-clad soldiers poured in, bearing Resistance insignia. Mina was distracted, if only momentarily; I seized my chance, leaping furiously at her while her head was turned away. The gun went off right above my ear, deafening me on the left side. I tackled her to the ground, slamming her against the hard concrete floor and trying to force her to submit. The gun was knocked away in the ensuing melee, scattering with a crash across the floor.

Mina put up a hard fight, and during the process, one of the two of us grabbed my gun—I don't know who, but somebody did. And during the scuffle, the trigger was pulled.

The bullet tore through the leather holster, and entered her body, just barely grazing my thigh. As we both collapsed, feeling a burning pain tear through our flesh, there was more gunfire from the elevator, and I was momentarily distracted as a group of Loyalist soldiers armed with heavy weapons stepped out of the elevator and into a field of murderous fire from the half-dozen allied commandos surrounding us. Mina seized the moment, the opportunity, to throw me off and attempt to flee. Despite being wounded, she was able to buck my entire weight off of her body, get up and run away, as I tried to process the situation. We were both armed; a bullet ricocheted off of the floor right next to me as Mina opened a small door in the wall and disappeared down a long hallway. Cursing my inaction, I leapt up and tried to pursue her.

The hallway, more like a tight corridor, was long and seemed to be turning and twisting into the very heart of the earth. There was little light; small red LED lights on the floor illuminated the path, but I could barely see Mina's shape up ahead, until she fired off several rounds and forced me to duck behind the nearest bulkhead. As soon as the firing stopped, I was forced to rush out again and take up pursuit once more; if I couldn't find then, the gambit would be up…

It wasn't long before we reached our destination. As it turned out, the corridor ended up on the other side of the room I had been previously in, a small platform that led right up to where the portal was.

Mina stood on that platform, surrounded by guns. On the other side of the room, the commandos had easily finished off the Loyalist intruders and now had their weapons trained on Mina, who had no protection against such firepower. And behind her, I stood in the corridor, with Darius' Anaconda raised and aimed at her head. If this wasn't checkmate…

"It's over, Mina. Nowhere to run now," I said, breathless. She seemed to be considering this pointed statement.

"I suppose you've cornered me," she smiled, holding the firearm level at my head. She might shoot me, but even then she could not escape—not with so many hostiles trained on her.

"It's over, and you know it—"

"I'm afraid I have to face the truth sometime," Mina shrugged, as if this were just another day of staring death in its ugly face.

"I'm not going to shoot you," I stated, and for the first time Mina was suddenly, inexplicably taken aback.

"You…won't?"

"You don't deserve death, yet. You will be brought before the people…justice, fair justice for you, before death takes you."

Perhaps she was surprised that I hadn't succumbed to my primal instinct to kill her on the spot, and she swayed on the cusp of pulling the trigger and waiting to hear what I had to say.

"Why so civilized, all of a sudden?" she asked, out of curiosity.

"Because we need you yet. _I _need you yet."

"And how so? How could _you _possibly need _me_?"

"You can redeem yourself, don't you realize that? There is a way—"

The projectile tore through my leg before I registered the roar of her gun. I had no time to react before she pulled the trigger, much less before the other soldiers pulled their triggers and riddled Mina's body with bullets. She fell forward, falling off of her platform and tumbling down the small flight of metal stairs that led up to her portal platform.

The wound seared; it had not hit my foot, like the other bullet had. This one had gone right through the soft flesh and muscle of my ribcage, and by the looks of it barely missed any important organs. But the bleeding was heavy, and I didn't have a large amount of time left before it began to pose a threat. So I had to act quickly.

Already, several of the soldiers were hurrying down the adjacent corridor to our aid. Mina was wounded in several places, in a much worse condition than I was. She was barely stirring on the floor, struggling to get back up and grab her weapon again. I had not even discharged the Anaconda once in the fray; hopefully, I wouldn't have to.

"Captain, are you—"

"At the moment, yeah, I'm fine…don't," I shoved his hands off as he tried to bring me to my feet. "I can manage."

I struggled to bring Mina's attention to me; she was injured badly, with at least nine separate bullet wounds pockmarking her body. There was no getting her out of here alive.

"Mina…you're—"

"I'm not going to make it. Looks like your…rebels…finished me off after all," she grimaced, surrounded by armed Secessionist guards who looked ready _to _finish her off.

"You're not dead yet," I said.

"But I won't make it. You know as well as me," she responded, her demeanor almost pleasant now. Perhaps, facing death and on the cusp of passing from this world, she was trying to reconcile herself.

"There's one last thing you can do, if you wish to redeem yourself—"

"What makes you think I want to do that?" she asked, smiling dreadfully. I feared that she would leave me with the portal about to erupt—we had less than two minutes before the critical stage was finally reached. But she relented.

"I know what you want from me…it might be the last thing I do on this earth, but—"

"You need to tell me now," I told her forcefully, wincing against the pain now growing, hot and damp, above my waist. The blood was spreading, staining my shirt—Mina would pass away, but I still had a chance to get this taken care of, before it was too late.

"I know…there's only one way to shut it down now—something has to enter it before it reaches its critical stage."

"Something? Or—"

"It has to be a living, breathing entity. We don't know why, but it's happened before…long story, but the portal shut down when some creature entered it before we had it ready. It can happen again…and it would be knocked out."

"Is it the only way?" I asked her, finding myself suddenly short of breath.

"Sir, we need to—"

"It's the only way. There is no source of power now…you can't cut the power, there isn't any…" Mina could speak no longer. She fell back against the floor, breathing heavily and shallowly. A pool of deeply crimson blood was spreading out from beneath her body.

"Sir? You need to seek medical—"

"Throw her into the portal," I ordered blithely, standing up on shaking legs. The massive portal, now a giant sphere of gelatinous energy, was roaring loudly, now beginning to drown out our speech. "Toss her in—"

"Sir, she's still—"

"She has to be still alive. That's the only way we can shut it down."

The soldier wasn't sure what to do; he stood stock-still, blinking several times.

"Toss her in. Do it."

The wounded, dying Mina was picked up by two of the commandos and brought up to the platform. I followed her up there, watching as they prepared to drop her into the swirling violet vortex below.

"Leon…please forgive me…for what I've done…"

Mina made her last request weakly, the light fading from her eyes. She was almost pitiful, on the verge of death, asking one last thing of me. I leaned over her, bringing my mouth close to her ear.

"I cannot do that."

She smiled faintly.

"Then I must be purged, for I…have sinned…"

With care, the commandos lofted Mina over the side and down into the portal. She twisted and spun in the air before disappearing into the globule of energy. The massive sphere began to shriek and sputter violently; collapsing in on itself as biological matter entered it, and traveled to a whole new world…

I fell to my knees, feeling weak and woozy. Blood oozed from both my foot and my hip, staining my shoe and shirt. One of the commandos helped bring me to my feet, and I staggered about clumsily like a drunkard.

"I'm…n-not going to…make it—"

"We're getting you out of here, Captain. Sergeant DiNiccio, grab his legs…get him up there…"

I felt myself being hoisted up onto broad, heavy shoulders, and saw the ceiling move above me as I was carried out.

"He's lost a lot of blood, sir…"

"We'll get him up there. He's going to be fine…"

I hovered on the verge of consciousness. I could not sustain myself like this for much longer…I had lost so many pints of blood. I knew that if I descended into unconsciousness, it would all be over.

It felt like a good way to go. I had done my duty; the portal was powering down, stopping itself; it would not erupt and take the world with it…everything would be okay, I could die in peace…

"Hang in there, captain. We're getting you topside…"

_I can die in peace now…finally, I can rest…_

"Don't close your eyes. I'm going to get you home."

…

…

…

…

What was home?

xXXXXXXXXXXXx

There was a blinding flash of light, and for a single moment Mina Wycokrwyz was conscious, aware of her surroundings.

The buildings were tall and made of the finest steel, much like her birthplace. She was lying somewhere hard, on her back, facing a cerulean sky and fluffy pink clouds. A group of people, normal, everyday people had gathered around her, muttering amongst each other and pointing.

_Where was she? Was this…home? This wasn't Terra Nova…_

_What happened? Am I…alive?_

Her vision was fuzzy, but she could still see the man in the blue uniform emblazoned with the acronym **NYPD **push his way through the crowd and approach her.

"Ma'am, are you alright? Can you hear me?"

There was no point in asking if she was hurt; Mina was on the verge of death.

"Ma'am? Can you hear me? Can you respond?"

_I don't wish to…I've found…paradise…I know where I am now. The promised land._

"We need a paramedic, NOW!" the uniformed man screamed, as more of his comrades pushed their way through the mass of people. But it was too late. Mina was too far gone; she had found her promised land, and in finding it, had brought only death upon herself.

_Well, it's like they always say_, Mina thought to herself as her life ended. _You reap what you sow_.

xXXXXXXXXXXXXXx

The soldier leapt up over the sandbags and rushed to the position across the street. Machine gun fire burst across the terrace, shattering terra cotta under his feet as he ran. But he made it, safe and sound, to the medic and wounded man trapped on the other side of the terrace and plaza.

"It's a helluva run back to friendly lines," the soldier said, out of breath. "You able to make it?"

"Not with him," the medic replied, pointing to the injured man. "He's bleeding badly, and I'll need to carry him—"

"Well, we don't really have a choice, doc! It's either he bleeds to death here, or we make the rush back to cover—"

At that moment, the machine gun fire and explosions stopped. It all just…halted. Like someone gave a sudden order to hold fire.

"The guns…they've stopped," the medic said, breathless. He peered over the edge of his cover, expecting fire to come his way. But there was none.

"Holy mother of…you've got to see this, what the hell are they—"

The soldier, still out of breath, couldn't resist peeking over. What he saw was, even after sixty days of service in a war that seemed to have lasted forever, the most amazing sight he had ever witnessed.

Every single Loyalist soldier poured forth from their entrenchments, hands raised in the air. A few of them carried white flags or banners, signaling their intent to surrender.

"They've all given up," the medic stated, breathless.

"About damn time, too."

The soldier crawled out of the bunker and dashed back across the terrace, as his allies rushed out of their defenses to capture the surrendering Loyalists. He came across one of his regiment's staff sergeants, who was rounding up several battered Loyalist recruits.

"Sir, what's—"

"We're all done here, Private. Get your weapons and gear and head back to base."

"But what—"

"Mina Wycokrwyz is dead, son. The war's over."

xXXXXXXXXXXXx

The double murder-suicide was the most shocking crime to happen in Stockholm in almost a decade. Markus Persson and Jens Bergensten…such promising young minds, both dead in a single night. Carl Manneh, the managing director of Mojang, AB, was now left with a catastrophe on his hands. Surrounded by press, journalists and paparazzi, he evaded all questions until he entered the safe haven of the Mojang offices. Or what had been a safe haven; now, it felt like a place of evil. Blood had been shed here.

From all across the Internet and the world, sympathy and assurances had come in. Whether it be from down the street—employees from _Battlefield _developers DICE had come to pay their respects—or from the other side of the world, where Minecraft fans in Chicago had held a nighttime vigil for their departed idols, the condolences flooded in day and night. And yet they felt meaningless as Carl walked into the conference room at Mojang and took his seat in front of the assembly of people, all employees of Mojang.

"I don't really know…what to say," he began, suppressing the choking feeling in his throat. "It's…hard to find a place to begin."

Nobody said anything. Lydia Winters had been in tears earlier, and Jakob Porser had refused to speak for two days. The entire assembly was dead silent, waiting for their new leader to speak.

"Well…what we've lost in invaluable. And nobody could have seen it coming. I'm…at a loss for words."

"As it stands, we have a mob of press at our front door, millions of fans to answer to, and a piece of technology that almost brought the world to its knees. It's a lot to balance, honestly."

Still no reply. Everyone was fixated on Carl's words; he was the new head of Mojang, and he was to make the decisions now. Notch was dead and beneath six feet of earth; he would be mourned and missed by many, but he held no significance on this planet now.

"Word has come to me—from Notch's brother—that the war inside _MINECRAFT _is over. I do not know the details, but the Secessionists are apparently victorious."

Everyone at Mojang had been briefed about the events inside of the simulation—past, present and future. From the fall of the grand city of Trinira, to the ascent of the Users of the Three Realms, from the journeys of Sima Herdrath to the rise of modern Minecraftian civilization, Carl had told them everything. The entire timeline of the simulation was laid out in plain speech. They knew who the Secessionists were, and what they represented.

"So, with the conflict at an end, we are left with two choices."

Everyone listened intently.

"We can either disable the simulation…or open it to UN investigation."

"We can't do either," Tobias Mollstam complained. "We certainly cannot trash so much hard work, and we can't give it away to the investigators!"

"We were given two clear options," Carl spoke. "Considering that Markus' creation nearly brought modern civilization to an end, I would be happy to simply have a choice."

"Those are poor options," Aaron Nieminen spoke up, his head previously resting on the table. "But I agree…we're lucky enough as is. They could've thrown our asses in jail."

"True enough," Tobias begrudged him. "If the public knew what we almost did…"

"They don't need to know. Not now, not today, not ever. It will be our secret—from here on out, we need to take better care of _MINECRAFT_. It's no longer a game…it's grown beyond that," Carl said.

"Like a garden, it must be tended to—a garden full of weeds produces nothing but sorrow. But one that is cared for will produce bounteous fruit," Carl spoke wistfully. "We failed to tend to our own creation, and it grew 'full of weeds', so to speak…and we've paid the price for our failures. But now it is time to bring life back to it…and I have just the idea that will suit both parties."

Those attending the meeting leaned in and listened, more intently than ever.

xXXXXXXXXXXXx

My vision was fuzzy at best, but I soon was able to focus on the ceiling of the tent. Strangely, nothing really hurt that badly; maybe I was just used to the pain, but maybe the wounds weren't as bad as I had previously thought.

"Well, that should be evidence enough that he is alive," a strong male voice spoke, and three faces appeared at the foot of my bed. Celine, Darius and Miguel were right by my side, each of them smiling.

"Thank goodness, he's awake…"

"Well, I thought I'd lost you back there," Darius joked. "You were barely conscious when you left that headquarters building."

"Where…am I now?" I asked, rubbing my temples vigorously. Harsh light streamed in from the aperture of the medical tent and I could see the stark towers of Terra Nova, smoke rising from some of them.

"Back behind lines. Home, in a sense," Celine answered. "The war's over…she's dead—"

"I know, I know. I watched her die," I groaned, struggling to sit up and face them. Rina and Dr. Caldwell were present as well, and Herobrine was standing at the entrance. This was the last of us.

"Good riddance to her," Miguel spat. "The world will be better off without her."

"I agree," I concurred. "But…I almost felt pity for her at the end. It just didn't feel right, to mock her at that point. She seemed so deluded, almost insane…so caught up in the whirlwind of her own imagination that she lost her head in the clouds."

"She was delusional, that is true," Caldwell spoke up, wiping sweat from his brow. "And she has spilled much blood before finally being lain to rest. There is much work to be done."

"So…the war is over?" I asked tentatively.

"Loyalist forces have pretty much surrendered all across the field," Celine answered, sweeping her blonde hair back over her shoulder. "There are a couple of holdouts, but they won't last much longer. And the Wither threat has been…disabled."

"Strange, it was," Caldwell picked back up. "They all just stopped. There weren't even any Nether Stars close by…we just found them, floating out in the desert, immobile."

"As if they were just 'shut down'," Celine said. "I didn't question it…another massive obstacle out of the way, one less problem to deal with."

"Aye. The sun is shining again, metaphorically," Miguel smiled, standing up and stretching. "There's a lot of work to be done, but I'm going to take it a step at a time."

With Rina, he walked out of the tent, holding her close to him. Darius and Dr. Caldwell followed, as the doctor departed, leaving me alone with Celine and Herobrine. Hero was standing watch outside, so technically it was just us.

"I had a feeling you'd be coming back," Celine whispered, holding my hand tightly.

"I wasn't so sure myself…"

"I was. You had it with you the entire time…it's just a shame about all of the others," she spoke softly, a single tear glistening in her eye.

"They didn't die in vain. What they did…allowed me to press on—"

"I know, I know. But…all of this blood shed, for such an uncertain future…"

"It might not be clear, but we'll get everything set straight. I know we'll do it right this time," I promised her. Celine was at a loss for words; the entire experience had been quite harrowing, and she kissed me gently on the lips before exiting, blushing brightly and smiling. As she left, Herobrine took it as his cue to enter.

"Thank you for waiting—"

"It was not a problem. I've got nothing better to do, anyway," Herobrine spoke, sitting roughly down on a nearby stool.

"I'm sorry about your brother."

"Thank you. I…do wish I had been able to see him again. After…being away for so long…"

Herobrine had never shown emotion before; but now, I could hear the distant sadness in his deep voice.

"What happens now, then? Are you stuck here forever?"

"Most likely so," Hero answered. "I have no idea who is in charge now, or even _if _someone is in charge of the simulation. It's a hard concept to grasp, but it's not my problem now."

"Where will you go, then?" I asked.

"Somewhere. I have no idea where, but I doubt that humanity at large will accept me. Perhaps it's time to return to my nomadic roots once more…I almost miss the old times, haunting solitary miners and stalking them. Gave me a sense of purpose…not a good one, but it was something."

We were silent for a moment; there were bloodstains on Herobrine's shirt still, and they would never come out now.

"Thank you for everything you've done."

"It was my duty…my brother's last will," he spoke. "I had to fulfill it…and I hope that I have put his memory to rest."

With those last words, Herobrine stood up and left. But before he exited, he handed me a small note that had been crumpled up in his shirt pocket. He placed it on my chest.

"I don't know what it is, but it was my brother's. Perhaps someday it will be relevant. Farewell, Leon."

And he departed, those white eyes returning to the wilderness they had been borne from. I opened up the note, struggling to read the combination of numbers:

_8131996_

It made no sense, and I doubted that it was supposed to. But I held onto the note, stowing it safely in the pocket of my combat pants as the doctor reentered the tent.

The war was over. Peace had returned to us. And I had a bright future ahead with my true love.

xXXXXXXXXXXXx

The years came and went—thirty years in _MINECRAFT_, one in Earth. Commander Inazawa, after the war, was elected president of the New Order, which choose Terra Nova as its capital and the lands around it as a new home for the displaced people.

The wrongs of the past were never forgotten; a new society, one far more in tune with nature and peace, rose out of the ashes of war and destruction. Renewable energy powered every building, hospitals and schools were rebuilt from the ruins of barracks and factories, and a new government body was elected to power. _MINECRAFT _had gone through its purgatory, and had risen to a healthy status once more.

Those thirty years having passed, Leon Walker was indeed a happy man. He had a strong family, a quiet suburban dwelling, and both fond and painful memories of the conflict so long ago. Rina and Miguel had come together, and Dr. Caldwell had died peacefully in his home. Leon had been with Celine for those thirty years, happy as he could ever be. But three decades after he read that little slip of paper, it still bugged him.

At the same time, Carl Manneh sat in his Mojang offices, puzzling over a scribble wrote in one of Markus Persson's old journals. The numbers were strange, and meant nothing. 8131996…what relevance could it possibly have?

Carl decided not to think about it. At that moment, plans were being made to make _MINECRAFT _public, to launch the simulation as a public device. The world's digital age would take a great leap forward; gaming and hardware would never be the same, revolutionized by the one man who had almost destroyed it all.

Carl and Leon read those numbers at the same time, but set them aside once more, deciding not to think about it. They each had their own futures ahead of them, their own roles to play.

There had not been any conflict for a long time. All was well.


End file.
